


The Greatest of These

by CateAdams



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Romance, T'hy'la
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-26
Updated: 2020-05-22
Packaged: 2021-03-01 18:00:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 18
Words: 53,162
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23861200
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CateAdams/pseuds/CateAdams
Summary: In the middle of a top-secret mission on the edge of unexplored space, the appearance of a mysterious and formidable force causes their shuttlecraft to crash land, leading to a redefinition of Jim and Spock’s relationship and a life-or-death struggle for the away team.
Relationships: James T. Kirk/Spock
Comments: 266
Kudos: 606





	1. Diverted

Chapter One: Diverted

“Okay, okay,” Jim Kirk chuckled, “what about this one? Do you remember?” The captain leaned his head back, slowly crooning, “ _It’s only been you, among the suns and moons, a thousand alien tunes_.”

The commissioner laughed and shook her head. “Sure, but what I’m never going to forget is Spock’s expression while you sang that refrain over and over as the drugs wore off. Shuffling around in your hospital gown, too, with absolutely no shame. I swear he almost smiled.”

“It was a good day,” Jim agreed, throwing yet another glance toward the front of the shuttle where Spock sat at the command console, determinedly facing away from them. The captain’s gaze shifted to Nyota, seated across the cabin. The communications officer, who had been following their conversation with narrowed eyes, simply shrugged noncommittally and bent her head to her console.

Jim turned back to the other woman, continuing, “After all, the doctors had just told me that all the tests were normal, and I was getting out, super-blood and miraculous resurrection notwithstanding. Finally.” He shook his head, leaning back in his seat. “I know I’ve said this a few times already, but it’s good to see you again, Lali.”

“It’s always good to see you, Jim.” Lalitha smoothed her elegant white tunic over her lap. She sighed. “I do wish we could get together under better circumstances, though.”

Jim shrugged. “You mean, apart from death’s door?”

She nodded. “Outside of a hospital, at least.”

“I’ll say.” He shook his head. “Third time’s the charm, I guess.”

“Captain?” Lieutenant Commander Barnes spoke up from where he was seated at the rear of the main cabin. “I’ve finished the modifications to the transporter beacons. Do you want to take a look?”

“Sure.” Jim tilted his head in a mock bow to the commissioner. “Madam, if you will excuse me momentarily?”

“But of course, Captain,” Lalitha responded with an exaggerated wave.

Jim grinned as he stood, walking past the perpetually nervous-looking Yeoman Ocampo to crouch next to Barnes. “Okay, Bill. Let’s have it.”

“Great. Okay, sir, you can see that the positive portal here has been re-configured to enhance the—.”

Barnes kept talking, and Jim nodded along, already recognizing the improvements but allowing the older scientist to lecture through them. He cast a surreptitious look back at the lovely commissioner as she studied a PADD and tried to avoid Ocampo’s puppy eyes. It had been just over two years since he had first met her in the Fleet hospital after Khan’s devastation of San Francisco, and barely five months since they’d met again in the medical ward on Starbase Two after a surprise attack by a rogue Klingon ship had damaged both the base and the crews on leave there. Each time they’d carried on a brief and light-hearted physical affair and parted as friends, and each time it had been a convenient way for him to avoid confronting deeper, more complex feelings for someone else. Wincing slightly, Jim forced his attention back to Barnes.

“—so, the modifications will allow us to lock on for standard automatic transport from beacon to beacon even within the electromagnetic distortions common in the destination atmosphere.”

“Excellent,” Jim said, rising to his feet. “Well done, Commander.”

Barnes appeared pleased. “I’ll pack them up and have them ready to go, sir.”

“Good.”

Lalitha smiled at the captain as he returned to his seat. “My first top secret mission,” she said, “and I have to drag you along with me. Of course, Charisidon had to be well out of everyone’s way.”

“Orders are orders,” Jim shrugged, settling himself down. “And a nice, quiet trade summit isn’t all that bad. Anyway,” he continued casually, “I was actually looking forward to spending a few days in a cramped long-range shuttle on a super-secret trajectory under comms silence.”

“Oh, really?”

“No paperwork,” he quipped.

Lalitha snorted. “Our yeoman would dispute that, I’m sure,” she said, looking pointedly at Ocampo.

“Yes, ma’am!” the young man chirped immediately. “Even the captain can’t escape that easily!”

“See?” Lalitha grinned at him as Ocampo blushed furiously.

Jim smothered his own smile, looking helplessly again at his first officer and taking in the now-familiar perfect lines of the back of his uniform. Spock had kept his distance ever since Commissioner Basu had beamed aboard the _Enterprise_ the day before and had held near-silence during the past nine hours of their present journey. And Nyota’s own relative reticence was no help either. To the best of Jim’s knowledge, she and Spock were no longer seeing each other romantically, but they seemed to be operating together in this, whatever _this_ was. The captain couldn’t help a twinge of familiar irritation at Spock’s predictably enigmatic response, thinking of all the times over the past two years that he and his first officer had flown back and forth between kindred intimacy to confusing distance. It was both confounding and exhilarating: a strangely asymptotic relationship that, outside of professional boundaries, defied traditional definition.

Jim heard Lali clear her throat and swung his attention back to the commissioner, seeing tight curiosity on her face as he realized he had been staring at the Vulcan.

The captain recovered gamely. “The good news is that Charisidon has excellent shore facilities in addition to the utmost in security and operational discretion. Once there, we’ll be in the best of hands.”

She tilted her head flirtatiously, lowering her voice. “I thought I already was in the best of hands.”

Jim leaned closer to the dark-haired woman, pointedly ignoring Nyota’s arched brows on the other side of the cabin. “Well, Lali, if you consider—.”

“Incoming!” Spock’s sharp exclamation cut into Jim’s reply. “All hands brace for impact!”

Jim gripped the restraints as they automatically deployed across his body, as red lights flashed across the interior of the craft, as shock burst over Lalitha’s face and Uhura grabbed for her console. The actual impact came harshly, accompanied by the squeal of twisting plastisteel and shrieking alarms, and Jim grunted as inertial dampeners failed and the gravity field shifted polarity, the shuttle itself flipping end over end as it tumbled out of the warp envelope, sparks erupting from the forward panels.

Fierce adrenaline pumped through Jim’s body as the shuttle leveled out and drifted, alarms blaring shrilly in ruddy, smoky silence.

“Spock! Report!” Jim released his restraints and pushed himself to the Vulcan’s side.

“We encountered a class-four seeker mine, Captain,” Spock said, his hands flying over his boards. “It threw us out of warp. The port nacelle is out of alignment.”

“Class-four?” Jim said incredulously. “We should have disintegrated.”

Spock nodded, outwardly inscrutable aside from slightly quickened breath. “I had been running active sensor scans as a precaution, Captain. The instruments registered the mine’s closing trajectory in time for course adjustment, but we still sustained a peripheral impact.”

“You saved our lives,” Jim said frankly, reaching out to grasp his friend’s shoulder as the Vulcan looked up at him. The deflector’s automatic settings would never have caught it; if Spock hadn’t been running those active sweeps, a direct hit on a craft this size would have turned them all to stardust. Jim squeezed once before letting go and glancing behind him. “Uhura? Lali? Ocampo? Barnes? Everyone okay?”

“I’m fine, Jim,” Lalitha replied shakily. She looked terrified.

Ocampo nodded jerkily, his hands tightly gripping the armrests, his eyes huge. “Yes, sir. Alright, sir.”

Nyota was pressing a hand to her forehead, a fine trail of red dripping from under her fingers and down across her cheekbone as she blinked up at him. “F-fine, Captain.”

She didn’t look it, though, and he put a hand on her console. “We need to send—.”

“Standard distress,” she finished firmly. “Full encrypt and scramble, aye.”

“I’ve got a problem back here, Captain!” Barnes called. “Environmental indicators at red-line in the aft cabin; we’re venting amidships!”

“On my way. Spock, what’s our position?”

“Sector J-34, Captain, subsect twelve.”

“Damn. Skirting unexplored space.” A higher-class mine out here usually ruled out run-of-the-mill pirates or slavers and, given the rarity of ships, was most likely something specifically meant for them. Jim set his jaw. “Can you get us back to warp?”

“Affirmative,” Spock replied,” but I will need to re-calculate the intermix formula to the power couplings in order to accommodate the structural misalignment.”

“Get started. And see if you can identify any other mines out there.” Jim braced himself against the shuttle’s ceiling as he made his way to the rear of the cabin, hearing Spock’s acknowledgement as Lalitha reached out to him.

“Other mines?”

The captain nodded. “It’s possible. These can be set out in a grid pattern; the others will converge after the first one impacts, assuming there’s anything left to be destroyed.”

She was shaking her head, muttering almost to herself, “The Syndicate. Double-crossing bastards.”

“Orions?” Jim furrowed his brow. “What do you—?”

“Captain?” Barnes interrupted, motioning him over. Jim approached to study the cracked and flickering screen over the older man’s shoulder.

“I’ve gotten the emergency internal fields operational,” Barnes said. “Hull integrity is temporarily restored, but it’s coming at a cost.”

Jim shook his head as he peered at the indicators. “We’ll burn right through our reserve power.”

Barnes nodded, the flashing red alert lights reflecting off his graying hair. “No choice, in my opinion, Captain. We don’t have the equipment to repair this kind of damage out here.”

“Captain?” Nyota’s voice held a note of consternation. “I’m getting persistent and impenetrable interference. All channels currently inaccessible. There’s no way we can get a signal out.”

“Interference?”

“It’s not like anything I’ve seen before. It seemed to have started right after that mine impact.”

Spock glanced over his shoulder. “Captain, sensors have identified seventeen additional mines closing on this location at warp one.”

Jim swore internally and gestured to the environmental control panel. “Stay on it, Barnes. Do what you can.” He turned on his heel and jogged to the front of the craft. “How long?”

“Three point six minutes.” Spock’s dark eyes were focused on the screen as Jim slid into the co-pilot’s seat. “The computer is calculating intermix.”

“Is that interference originating from the minefield?”

“Negative,” Spock said somewhat distantly. “It is a directed beam impacting a considerable part of the energy spectrum. High intensity and growing stronger.”

“Directed? From where?”

“Unknown. Sensors are also being affected.”

Jim chewed on the side of his thumbnail, his eye on the chronometer. “Spock, what’s taking so long with the computer?”

“Convergence to the necessary threshold is—.”

“Yeah, how much longer?” Jim interrupted heatedly.

“Seven minutes.”

“Spock, we don’t have that much time!”

“Agreed. I am concurrently attempting the calculation myself.”

Jim stared at him, now recognizing the odd preoccupation in the Vulcan’s demeanor. The captain knew his own talents in multidimensional mathematics were impressive, but the Vulcan’s ability to solve complex problems in his head was incomprehensible. “Right,” the captain said. “I’m programming in an escape trajectory.”

Spock abruptly blinked, his unfocused stare breaking as a warning light started flashing on his console.

Jim curled his fingers over the controls. “Rogue mine detected; approaching on two-six-five. Impact in ten seconds!” He looked at his first officer. “Spock, give me something, anything!”

The Vulcan’s hands were moving rapidly over his own panel. “Warp drive possible, but there is a seventy-five point two percent chance we will explode upon initialization.”

“Fuck it! Go, go, go!”

The engines roared and the forward viewer gleamed with the streaks of warp space. Infrastructure shook, high harmonics singing over throbbing engine noise as the shuttle bounced within the warp corridor, and Jim knew that they didn’t have much time before the damaged nacelle manifold would begin to crumple under the strain. Behind him, he heard Barnes’ desperate shout.

“Captain, I’m losing hull integrity again! Fields are fluctuating!”

“How long can you hold out?” Jim shouted over the wailing engines.

“I need to reach the manual override, sir, but the panel’s wedged shut!”

Spock had already unfastened his restraints. “I will see to it, Jim. You are the superior pilot.”

“I’ve got her,” Jim acknowledged, fighting the controls as he programmed in a spiral course. All indicators were maxed; he could smell something burning and he gritted his teeth. He could shift vectors all he wanted, but if they didn’t get enough distance from the mines, they would be sitting ducks when they exited warp. “Uhura, I need you up here!”

Nyota vaulted into the seat next to him, drying blood smeared across her left cheek. Jim heard alarms suddenly increasing in tone as the craft gave a sudden series of powerful jolts. “That wasn’t internal,” he muttered. “What—?”

“The interference field, Captain!” Nyota exclaimed. “Sensors are blanked!”

“I see it.” Jim grimaced as his controls abruptly failed to respond. “It’s got ahold of the helm and nav computer, too. It’s…it’s acting like a tractor beam.” He shook his head, ducking as a panel above his head snapped open, spraying sparks. The entire shuttle was shuddering. “We’re locked at heading point six-two and increasing speed; I’ve lost positive control.”

“Internal fields failing, Captain!” Spock’s shout came as the craft jolted roughly again. “Estimate decompression in ten minutes!”

The whine of the engines hit a fever pitch and then abruptly stopped as the warp corridor evaporated around them and inertial stabilizers bucked again, the shuttle spinning as it dumped velocity. Jim’s head swam as the blue-green curve of a planet swung wildly on the viewscreen, impossibly close, and he heard Lalitha moaning behind him.

“Where—?” he began unsteadily. “What—?”

Nyota was shaking her head as she clutched her console. “The velocity surge was incredible. We were reading close to warp eleven. It’s…impossible.”

“Not impossible,” Jim murmured. He glanced up as Spock appeared behind them.

“Power is at critical level. Internal fields at eleven percent,” the Vulcan said. “Failure is imminent.”

“From what little I can read on scanners,” Nyota said, “that planet is the source of the interference field.” She looked at the captain. “Class-M.”

“Well, whoever or whatever is controlling that field has given us a place to go, I suppose.” Jim gestured widely to the viewscreen and then around at the smoking and sparking shuttle interior, alarms still sounding. “Can we even make it through an atmospheric entry?” he asked his first officer.

“I believe such an attempt is our only option,” Spock replied evenly. “Our trajectory to Charisidon brought us to the very edge of explored space. I hypothesize that our encounter with the mine and our subsequent escape further into that space attracted some attention.”

“I’ll say,” Jim commented wryly. “I—.” He stopped, his voice catching in his throat as something seemed to expand around him. There was the briefest period of unnatural stillness when everything seemed to move in slow motion: the blink of emergency lights, a cascading shower of sparks. And from somewhere in that stillness, purposeful yet invisible tendrils emerged, slipping over Jim’s spine, curling around his temples and out over his limbs: icy-cold and alien and settling deep into his nervous system.

“Spock,” Jim reflexively choked. “Spock?” His voice was broken and uncertain. Everything was distorted, and then everything was too bright, too clear.

Nyota was gasping for breath next to him, both hands pressed to her forehead. She was terrified. Somehow, Jim could sense her fear as if it were an extension of himself.

“What is that?” Ocampo cried, the young man’s own terror amplified to the point of being palpable. “Captain, what is that?”

Jim’s hands were shaking, his body was shaking. He could feel Lalitha and Barnes, too. He was drowning in the others’ emotions: fear, shock, anger and everything terrifying and hopeless. He heard his name and turned to see his first officer’s dark eyes, felt his hands pressed to Jim’s shoulders.

“We’re being probed,” Spock managed, his voice sounding far away. “Extremely powerful and pervasive energies. The computers and, and—.”

“And us, too,” Jim finished as he watched the Vulcan grimace, heard Nyota scream. This felt like death; this tasted like the end of things. They were going to die and fear and defeat were choking them. But, at least, this time he could _touch_ … . Jim grabbed for his friend’s hands, prying them from his shoulders and holding tight.

Everything that couldn’t have happened before, when their hands were separated by relentless transparent aluminum, was happening now. Contact was everything, and the simple fact of it seemed enough for something warm and elusive to spark, to slide like wildfire through the curtain of fear around them, bringing soft and beautiful emotion rolling in its wake. Jim saw Spock’s eyes widen, felt —.

The shuttle jolted yet again, and Jim let out a shout as Spock fell backwards and away, their hands separating. They were falling, falling, no, being _dragged_ into an uncontrolled atmospheric dive and the shuttle was shattering around him, his crew were crying out around him.

“Hold on!” he yelled, because there was nothing else to say, nothing else to do. “Hold—!”

A large explosion from the rear of the craft interrupted him, and then another, nearer, the inevitable internal field failure beginning to extend along the portside main electromagnetic coil. The third explosion was impossibly loud, bursting on his left side. His skin was burning; the very air was burning, and he screamed as flames were chased by darkness and then there was nothing more.


	2. After The Crash

Chapter Two: After the Crash

Life returned harshly, wet and chilled, covered in foul-smelling mud and draped in moonlit darkness. Jim lay on his right side, dragging halting breaths into sluggish lungs. His breath formed clouds of condensation in the air, icy water lapping over his boots. His entire body felt numb, his arms and legs stiff and unresponsive, and he blinked, blurry vision clearing just enough to make out Nyota kneeling not three meters away, supporting a gagging Yeoman Ocampo as he lay on his side. Beyond her sat Lalitha, soaked and filthy, her hands clutched together desperately in front of her chest.

The commissioner made a whimpering noise, lifting a shaking hand to point at Jim. “He’s…he’s alive. My god, Uhura, look.”

“C’mon, Arturo, breathe. Breathe, Arturo,” Nyota was muttering breathlessly. “Get it all out, that’s it.” Ocampo abruptly shuddered and vomited water over the mud, wheezing, and Nyota leaned over him to cradle his head. “Arturo, can you hear me?”

“Y-y-yes, Lieutenant. I’m…I’m alright now,” the yeoman whispered.

“I doubt that,” Nyota replied.

“Uhura!” Lalitha demanded.

“Damn it to hell, Commissioner, what—?”

Jim’s vision was wavering, and the sound of splashing pulled his trembling attention away from the women’s voices and towards the water. The silver moonlight illuminated his first officer pulling a body from the water before the Vulcan immediately turned to disappear again beneath its surface. Jim fought sudden disorientation and chills as he blinked at the silent, broken form in a red Starfleet uniform, lying face-down and motionless. _Barnes_.

The captain’s body jerked as flickering memories surfaced: _searing pain, a voice crying out his name, choking on swirling, freezing water_. Jim managed to curl his fingers into the sticky sediment beneath him, trying to center himself, odd feelings moving over his limbs. He caught a glimpse of his left arm in the pale light and let out an involuntary noise. His uniform sleeve was torn to the shoulder, the edges of the fabric charred. He could see bloody and burned skin beneath. He flinched, seeing the damage continue down his left side and ending in a deep wound in his thigh. Jim thought he could see the white of bone, yet despite its savagery the gash was barely oozing blood. He should be in agony; he should be bleeding out; he should probably be dead, and yet all he felt was shifting phantom sensations.

Someone was next to him, peering at him but not touching. Nyota was saying something that he couldn’t hear, distress and disbelief warring in her expression. Jim closed his eyes briefly, concentrating on pulling the chilled air into his lungs. He remembered alarms and sparks. He remembered an explosion, everything going searing red and then black. He remembered a determined, desperate, _grieved_ feeling that somehow didn’t seem like his own. He remembered Spock’s presence, his strength, fingers touching Jim’s face, arms around his body.

In front of him, the glassy surface of the water reflected the moon and the panoply of stars above as if nothing had happened, as if, even now, no one was struggling beneath it. Jim’s chest spasmed and he felt as if he couldn’t breathe. Pain now crawled along his limbs, cutting sharply into his flesh and sending bright spots flashing in his vision. He truly couldn’t find any air, choking on the taste of ash and copper, his head pounding and vision vacillating, and then the Vulcan’s head broke the surface in front of him.

Jim could hear Spock gasping and scrambling, dragging the bulky emergency survival case through thick mud as Nyota stood and went to help him, speaking rapidly. As Spock had emerged, the pain and asphyxia inexplicably retreated, leaving the captain feeling weighted down and profoundly weakened, numbness again stretching inexorably across his body.

“Spock,” he rasped. He didn’t recognize his own voice.

“Jim!” Lalitha was suddenly at his side, long, wet hair dripping onto his face. “You were dead! We thought you were dead. I can’t believe it.”

Jim could barely look at her, his weak gaze fixed on the Vulcan.

“I will tend to him, Nyota,” Spock insisted.

“Let me do it,” Nyota replied vehemently. “Spock, you can’t. He’s…he’s probably not going to make it, and I don’t want you to have to be the one who—.”

Spock’s reply was in Vulcan, spoken too quickly for Jim to catch, and Nyota abruptly stopped, one hand covering her mouth.

Spock fell to his knees beside the captain, his arms hanging loosely at his sides, hands limp in the mud. He was soaked through and shivering, water mixing with something darker dripping down the side of his face, but his gaze was clear and intense on Jim’s.

Nyota had gathered herself, opening the survival case and pulling out the medpack and a blanket. She pushed the pack into Spock’s hands before getting to her feet and returning to Ocampo, curtly ordering Lalitha to assist. The commissioner reluctantly obeyed, glancing repeatedly over her shoulder back at the two men.

“Spock, r-report,” Jim murmured. Even his lips were numb.

“The shuttle came out of warp within the bounds of an unexplored system, within the gravity well of the fifth planet. Hull integrity was compromised and main power was down to six percent, the shuttle becoming rapidly uninhabitable. Unidentified blanket interference originating from this planet impacted all scanners, navigational systems, communications, and…and personnel.”

Jim shivered as he remembered the feeling of inhuman tendrils creeping along his nerves, along all their nerves, exposing their emotions, sliding into their minds immediately before the force seized them again.

“The shuttle was drawn into a max-vel high vector atmospheric entry, resulting in the port nacelle shearing completely away. Landing was largely blind and uncontrolled.” Spock’s recitation lacked any inflection aside from the tremors in his voice, his body now wracked with shivering. His eyes were wide, dark pools against pale skin.

Jim tried and failed to lean closer. “I can’t—.” He felt strangely apprehensive, as if there was some focused pressure that was about to break, and he couldn’t escape the feeling that there was something fundamentally wrong with his friend. “Spock, I can’t remember—.”

“An explosion rendered you injured and unconscious immediately before atmospheric entry. I took control of the shuttle and brought us down into this…this body of water. Nyota and the commissioner were able to evacuate. I removed you and the yeoman from the shuttle before it completely submerged. I retrieved Lieutenant Commander Barnes’ body. He suffered a broken neck upon impact and died instantly. And… .” The Vulcan trailed off; there was either no emotion behind his words or simply too much.

“And?” As his eyes adjusted further to the darkness, Jim could see that it was blood on Spock’s face, coming from some wound hidden in his hair.

“The...the emergency case. I retrieved the emergency case.” The Vulcan paused, swallowing audibly, his hands flexing over the medpack before he leaned forward. “You are suffering from burns and acute trauma as a result of the explosion. Your condition is critical.”

“It looks it,” Jim said weakly. “Spock, there’s something...something else wrong, though. I can’t feel any pain. You...you should check my spine—.”

In the moonlight, Spock seemed to steel himself as his shaking hands fumbled with the seals on the pack. “I have attenuated your pain response, Jim.”

“H-how?”

The medpack’s portable surgical light cast soft illumination over the Vulcan’s features, and Spock’s expression, visible for an instant before he lowered his head, was naked and traumatized, terribly reminiscent of the moment his planet fell. “I had to—.” He bit at his lower lip.

“What?” Jim asked again, confusion and fear mounting. He followed the Vulcan’s movements with his eyes, watching as Spock cleaned and sterilized his hands and arranged the instruments. In the light, he caught another glimpse of the deep wound in his leg and he hissed. There was truly no question about it: he should have been dead, his blood drained away into the water and onto the mud. He remembered Nyota’s shock and Lalitha’s response to his wakening. “What…what did you have to do?”

Spock had a scanner whirring over Jim’s body and feeding data to a tricorder. He pulled out a hypo, emptying it into Jim’s upper arm without further comment.

The captain hissed again, feeling woozy. He saw Spock press a hand to his own temple, the Vulcan swaying slightly and letting out a choked sob before recovering and loading another hypo, his expression still too open, too raw.

“Jim, I must...I must use deep dermal regeneration and attempt vascular repair immediately. I have administered a sedative and analgesic and now a broad-spectrum antibiotic. You will lose consciousness.”

Jim could feel the painkillers now, advancing through his body like a warm fog. Numbness was vanishing, leaving spikes of fleeting pain ahead of the medicine. The weighted feeling lifted for a moment before descending again, even heavier, and Jim’s stomach lurched. He felt oddly as if he was losing something that he didn’t want to let go. He forced his wandering thoughts into brief focus, recognizing something in that peculiar feeling as he raised his eyes to Spock’s stricken face.

“You’re...you’re in my head?” he slurred. His pulse raced even with the drugs.

“Yes,” Spock answered, continuing to work.

“How?” Jim asked dizzily. “You aren’t touching me. You stopped the pain?”

The Vulcan didn’t respond, reaching back into the medpack. Jim’s head spun with the effect of the painkillers and he closed his eyes, feeling something tugging at his injured leg.

“You’re always there,” the captain babbled drunkenly. “Always with me.”

“Rest, _t’hy’la_ , please,” Spock murmured, his voice sounding so far away.


	3. This Unfamiliar Place

Chapter Three: This Unfamiliar Place

Awakening the second time was far easier, and Jim opened his eyes to his head pillowed on Lalitha’s lap, her dark hair contrasting with the rosy dawn overhead as she looked worriedly down at him.

“You’re back,” she murmured. “How do you feel?”

“Sore,” Jim croaked. He was lying on his back with a thin tarp stretched underneath him, dressed in dry clothing and still-damp boots and wrapped in thin thermal blankets against the lingering chill in the air. His body hurt, but it was the dulled pain of medication instead of the fortified numbness of what he now knew to be some mystery of Vulcan discipline. _You’re always there;_ _always with me_. He closed his eyes briefly again, unsurprised to recognize something warm and familiar clinging to the edges of his awareness. _Spock_.

“Where’s…where are the others?”

“Spock and Uhura found a cave about a kilometer away,” Lalitha replied. “They took Yeoman Ocampo and the supplies Spock salvaged from the shuttle, but they’ll be back.” She made a small humored noise and held up a phaser. “I’m protecting you.”

Jim managed a vanishing smile in response, tentatively reaching with his right hand to feel along his injuries. The skin on the left side of his face felt tight and stung as he touched it. His hair was still there, though, and most of his eyebrow. He could feel that his arm, torso, and leg were tightly encased in bandages beneath the sturdy fabric of the survival fatigues.

“How’s Ocampo?”

“He’s alive,” Lalitha replied. “Weak, though; he’d nearly drowned as the shuttle sank.” She lowered her eyes. “Lieutenant Commander Barnes is dead.”

“I remember.” He slowly eased himself up on his elbows, pushing away the blankets and testing his limbs. He’d been moved further up the embankment, but he could see disturbed mud at the edge of the water, and footsteps leading away.

Lalitha was talking as if she hadn’t heard him. “After we hit, water started coming in, and Spock ordered Uhura and me to evacuate. Ocampo was behind me; I think he was trying to help Barnes when the shuttle shifted, and he fell against the bulkhead. I thought…we thought you were already dead, Jim. The explosion had bent the paneling around you and your body was trapped. Your leg was trapped at least and there was a lot of blood. You weren’t moving.”

Jim thought back to Spock’s vague and evasive answers to his questions. Above him, the sky was lightening to a pale blue, the warm golden light of the rising sun reflecting on the glassy surface of the water. They appeared to be at the edge of some kind of forest: tree-like vegetation towered on all sides, strikingly homogeneous and sea-green. Vine-like branches stretched, with thinner tendrils extending on all sides moving to produce a soft background whisper.

The commissioner seemed to follow his gaze. “It’s beautiful,” she said, “but quiet. Spock said that the interference was affecting the tricorder, but that he couldn’t read any species of birds or insects or other animals. Uhura said that the communicators didn’t work, either.” Lalitha edged closer to support him as he sat up fully. “You should rest.”

Jim listened, hearing nothing but the lap of water and the sway of the plants.

“It all happened so fast,” Lalitha continued. “That minefield, and then that other force.” She paused. “And then that…that feeling of being probed.”

“It hasn’t happened again?” Jim asked, sharply looking back at her.

“No.” She bit her lip, glancing around them at the looming trees. “Although I keep waiting for it. Or for something else.”

“It’s logical to assume that something or someone might show themselves,” Jim said absently. “After all, something or someone seems to have brought us here.” He blinked, trying to chase that elusive mental warmth, now tantalizingly close. As he leaned into it, the sensation expanded, encouraging him, calling to him.

“You sound like Spock,” Lalitha was saying. “Hardly offering much reassurance.”

“Help me up,” Jim said abruptly, rolling to his right side and gingerly getting one knee under him.

“Wait, what? Jim!”

“Help me, Lali,” he ordered. The soft beckoning had changed to something more urgent. He’d sensed this before: in the shuttle as the mental probe was advancing, at the edge of the water as he had gazed into his friend’s desperate expression, and even before that. He could feel the helplessness of it, the lack of control. Spock was faltering, and this was some subconscious cry that he couldn’t help but answer.

“Which way did they go? Lali!”

She frowned as she hurriedly tucked the phaser into her waistband and carefully got an arm under him. She was strong, and nearly his height, and supported him readily. “You’re hardly in any condition to walk,” she said crossly, “but they left a trail of marker beacons through the forest.”

“We need to go,” Jim said, staring at the edge of the forest as he tentatively placed weight on his left leg, feeling significant weakness there.

“Just… .” She released him for a few seconds to gather the thin blankets and tarp into a haphazard bundle. “Okay.”

They made slow but stubborn progress up the muddy embankment and into the near forest, and Jim felt Lalitha’s eyes on him as they slipped past the treeline, following small, blinking beacons laid out on the ground. The vines stretched overhead as well as along the ground, diving in and out of the dirt like serpents.

“This isn’t a good idea,” she cautioned tensely, keeping an arm tight around him. “We don’t have communicators, like I said before. If we get lost—.”

“We won’t,” he gritted. He pushed forward, already out of breath and sweating. The slope was increasing, and the forest had closed in around them, the water behind them already out of sight. They were surrounded by the hiss of the tendrils.

She mumbled something irritated and unintelligible, glancing around nervously, but kept up with his awkward movements. Jim narrowed his eyes, focusing on that persistent feeling floating in his mind. Pain was beginning to pulse through his wounds as exertion challenged the effects of the medication, and he studied his surroundings to distract himself from the growing discomfort. The singular uniformity, both in species and morphology, of the trees continued even as they pressed deeper into the forest. Jim noticed that the tendrils had increased in concentration and seemed to be moving on their own accord, not with an imagined breeze as he’d previously assumed. The air was more stagnant here, and strangely perfumed, and the towering foliage blocked out most of the sun, casting long shadows around them.

“Jim,” Lalitha finally burst out, anger cracking through her irritation. “You need to slow down! You’re going to hurt yourself even more, and I don’t understand why—.”

“We’re here,” he interrupted, pushing away from her and crashing into a small clearing. The eerie whispering was punctuated here by the sounds of a small waterfall, and Jim stopped as he took in a rock wall directly in front of him, stretching high above the trees. Off to one side, the dark gray was broken by a large, jagged opening, and he stumbled as he saw Nyota’s lithe form appear, phaser raised.

“Captain?” she exclaimed, darting forward to practically catch him in her arms. “Jim!”

“Where is—? Where’s—?” Jim gasped, trying to catch his breath.

“What are you doing here?” Nyota asked, her eyes flicking to Lalitha. “We were just getting ready to come back for you.”

“I—,” Jim pushed against her strength. “I’ll be alright; I just need to—.” At his stubborn insistence, she let him go, and he limped towards the cave.

“I told you to wait for us!” Nyota snapped, addressing the commissioner. “He’s in no condition to be up and around!”

“Obviously!” Lalitha retorted. “It wasn’t my fault; he was hell-bent on getting here for some reason.”

Jim crossed the threshold, the immediate presence of his first officer bringing him up short. He could _feel_ him as well as see him: a strange double-sensation.

Spock was standing not a meter away, staring at his captain in an oddly open expression of disbelief and shock. His gaze held the same unnerving intensity as it had earlier, in the bleak before-dawn, and his uniform was stained with dirt and dried human blood, his hair windblown. Dried green formed a patchy pattern from his hair down over one swollen cheekbone, following nasty bruising from forehead to chin, something Jim hadn’t noticed in last night’s darkness.

“Jim?”

A single word, spoken in a way that was completely vulnerable and terribly intimate, and Spock swayed and staggered a step before collapsing.

It was all Jim could do to propel his body forward on damaged sinew and catch his friend’s head before it hit the rock floor. He cried out as his own injuries screamed, but held on tight, curling around Spock as the two women appeared. Nyota had holstered her phaser and knelt beside them, and Jim blinked confusedly at the sight of her hands in his friend’s dark hair. He didn’t want—. He wanted—.

Nyota was muttering to the unconscious Vulcan. “This was coming one way or another. Too much; all of it too much and you wouldn’t stop.” She paused and raised her voice. “Commissioner, please hand me that medpack over there.”

Lalitha made a grunt of acknowledgement and Nyota arched her eyebrows at her captain. “You look awful, Jim. Are you trying to bleed to death a second time?”

Jim ignored her, intent on the solid weight in his arms. Nyota had barely opened the pack when Spock stirred, his body tensing as he slowly pulled away from his captain and sat up.

Their eyes met, and Jim choked back his questions in the struggling impassivity of the man in front of him, recognizing a grasping for strength where there was none left, a veneer of dispassion over emotions that burned too bright. Jim could see everything and yet nothing, and, presently, the simple fact of his life seemed to outweigh any need of an explanation for it.

“Are you alright?” the captain asked dumbly, and a spasm of pain through his own body caused him to roll back onto his right hip, taking all strain off of his injured leg.

“I am...now functional,” Spock replied, and Nyota’s loud and disbelieving snort caused a smile to curve Jim’s lips.

The captain shook his head and then peered off to the side; his eyes having adjusted enough to the dimness of the cave to see Ocampo, lying under a thermal blanket against the near wall of the cave. “Yeoman? Good to see you awake over there. How are you doing?”

Ocampo managed a smile, too. “I’m just a little less functional than Mr. Spock, sir,” he said weakly.

Now, Jim chuckled. “Me, too,” he replied. “Me, too.”

Lalitha had her hands on her hips. “You’re making jokes?” she said sharply. “We have no communicators, no ship, and no one knows where we are or if we’re even alive. How the hell are we going to get away? How the hell are we going to survive?”

Jim sobered, taking in her obvious distress. He glanced at his crew, one by one: injured, filthy, exhausted. He himself was wrapped in bandages, curled on the hard, cold floor of a cave. They’d been brought here by some unknown thing, now isolated and vulnerable on some unknown world. Lalitha’s reaction might be reasonable, but he knew it could also be deadly in a survival situation.

“Listen to me,” he said, summoning the tone of command from somewhere. “We may have no communicators and no ship. We may not fully understand what happened. But we’re alive now. There are always,” he looked at Spock, “possibilities.”

“But we were taken by something!” Lalitha insisted, stress making her voice tremble. “We’re trapped here!”

“We’re alive,” Jim repeated, as firmly as he could. “We perhaps wouldn’t be, if that force hadn’t grabbed us. There was enough damage done to the shuttle that we might not have made it long enough for a rescue.” He broke off, breathing hard as pain swelled again.

Nyota placed a hand on his shoulder. “Commissioner,” she began, and at Lalitha’s glare she continued more gently, “We’re dealing with the unknown. There are no answers any of us can give you.” She met Spock’s eyes, sharing some fleeting and veiled significance. “There’s no other way but forward and we’ll go one step at a time.”

Lalitha’s glare fell into a frown as her shoulders slumped, her hands dropping to her sides. “What’s the next step, then?”

“Spock is going to let Uhura treat his head wound and then change into dry clothes.” Jim rasped. “Ocampo, you’re going to stay where you are and try to rest. I’m going to sit here with a phaser.” He looked up at Lalitha. “Lali, you could help by taking an inventory of our supplies. And all of us,” he paused for emphasis, “need to be aware of our surroundings, of any change. Whatever brought us down is here, somewhere.”

“Aye, sir,” Nyota answered promptly, motioning to the commissioner.

“Yes, Captain,” piped Ocampo.

Lalitha sighed heavily and handed Jim her phaser before turning to the survival case, sitting open by the cave’s entrance.

Spock inclined his head, his eyes fastened on his captain.

“Alright.” Jim took a breath and licked his lips, trying to avoid wincing against rising pain as he glanced between his two officers. “Give me a situational report. What do we know?”

Spock spoke first, his cadences slower and more deliberate than usual. “The planet appears to be class-M in all respects. Tricorder readings are intermittent and unreliable but seem to indicate a lack of artificial structures or other evidence of sentient life. The blanket interference we encountered in the shuttle extends to the surface, but I cannot isolate it or analyze it with our present equipment. Medical scanners appear to be somewhat operational in immediate proximity.”

“Comms capability?”

Spock and Nyota exchanged a look. “None,” Nyota replied. “The interference is impacting communications as well. We’re unable to even maintain a carrier frequency.”

“Recommendations?”

“The interference pattern is preventing our signaling for a rescue on a secure channel and is inhibiting awareness of our surroundings,” Spock said. “We are unlikely to locate the source of the interference given our current circumstances. In the absence of additional complications, our location here is relatively secure. We have sufficient rations for several days, access to a water source, and are protected from weather.”

“So, we can survive to wait for whatever brought us here to just show up.” Jim knew he was being short. He could hear the effort in his own voice.

“It is not ideal, admittedly,” Spock said, “but seems unavoidable at present. Phasers do appear to be operational, but I have not tested them.” He paused. “I did not wish to disturb the immediate environment.”

“The trees. Well, I won’t argue with that.” Jim attempted a smile that turned immediately into a grimace as pain cut across his body.

“Captain?” Nyota reached into the medpack. “Do you need another hypo?”

“We’re low, aren’t we,” he hissed.

There was a pause as she searched. “Yes,” she said finally, “but there’s enough for—.”

“I can hold out—.” Jim’s words disappeared into a grunt of pain as he tried to wave her away. “Shit.” He closed his eyes, trying to calm his breathing. “Shit, this is bad.”

He felt warm hands on his shoulders, steadying him.

“Jim,” Spock said quietly. “Jim, let me help.”

He opened his eyes to meet a fathomless dark gaze. “Like before?” Jim gritted his teeth but kept eye contact, remembering Spock’s distraught expression in the moonlight and the recognition of mental intimacy that was assuredly not part of standard Vulcan practices.

“Yes.”

“Do it,” he whispered, blinking rapidly as the warmth in his mind expanded and intensified into the sensation of energy buzzing along his injuries, banishing pain and weakness. It was nowhere near the fierce numbness he had encountered on the muddy shoreline, but more than enough to relax his tight muscles, his jaw, the fist that now clutched at the phaser. Jim had gone boneless, his head lolling back, unable to hide the blatancy of his relief. He noticed belatedly that Nyota had averted her eyes, deliberately rummaging in the medpack as if she’d witnessed something between them that was altogether too private.

Austere Vulcan features had tightened, and the remaining color had drained from Spock’s face as he finally lowered his eyes. Jim caught his breath as he felt an echo of emotional anguish roll against his mind, so forceful that he felt a pang in his own chest. He opened his mouth to ask, and then he saw Nyota silently shake her head to dissuade him, her dark eyes holding some mixture of sadness and urgency.

“Please rest, Captain,” she said. “You just…you just need to rest.” She lifted gentle hands to part Spock’s hair. “Let’s get this fixed up.”


	4. The Beginning of Truth

Chapter Four: The Beginning of Truth

Afternoon was falling outside the cave, the sky deepening in color and the air touched with chill. Jim sat carefully on a large, flat rock several meters outside of the entrance, his injured leg stretched out in front of him, a phaser ready in his lap. In the relative quiet, with the others busy inside, he could simply breathe and listen. The oddly perfumed air seemed to curl into his nostrils, and all around him rustled the blue-green tendrils. Their original asynchronous whisper had slowly shifted into steady waves of phased motion, seemingly of their own accord, creating a hypnotic susurrus that pulsed like the beat of a heart.

Curious, Jim reached out to touch one of the curling vines that extended from a near tree. The motions of the tendrils populating its surface did not appear to vary with his proximity, but the vine itself was warm to the touch, its surface almost humid. Beneath the monochromatic outer layer, he perceived pulsed motion, perhaps movement of a fluid. He lifted his hand. There had been no further occurrences of whatever had inundated them prior to the shuttle’s plunge into the atmosphere. Their sensors and communicators, however, despite their continuing efforts, were still rendered useless by the interference field.

His own awareness of his injuries was now limited to a background throbbing growing into a stinging spasm when he moved too quickly. He was weak, but he could stand and even walk, and if he felt the occasional wave of dizziness or experienced a passing chill, he dismissed it as not being nearly as bad as it could be. Jim closed his eyes briefly, concentrating on the warmth in his mind. He felt something push and pull and when he heard a step behind him he didn’t have to turn to know who it was.

“Did I call you?” Jim asked, keeping his voice low enough for Vulcan ears only. “Is that what that was?”

“In essence.” Spock paused to stand next to him, his hands clasped behind his back.

“Fascinating.” Jim stared out into the darkening vegetation, suppressing a shiver. “You buried Barnes?”

“I did.”

“Where?” Jim frowned. “Not tonight, but I want you to show me.”

“His body is nearer to the water,” Spock replied. “I was careful not to disturb the root structures of the flora.”

“Good.” Jim looked up at his science officer. “And your opinion on the flora?”

Spock lifted an eyebrow. The Vulcan’s thick hair was pushed away from his forehead, and his dark brows slashed sharply upward against bruised skin. His expression was strangely open, or perhaps only appeared that way.

“The uniformity of appearance implies that this is either a single, dominant species existing as a colony or, alternatively, a single organism. Coordinated movements of the leaf-like structures may serve a function such as respiration or may be a form of communication.”

Jim considered the tendrils again. “Could they be sentient?”

“It is difficult to say. Sentience could perhaps be indicated by physiological change, or other observable dynamic reaction to stimulus. However, we are particularly ill-equipped to adequately observe such, given our equipment and the potential scale involved.”

“It does appear that this species has been evolutionarily successful.” Jim reached out to touch the vine again. I suppose there’s no way we can properly evaluate the presence of a centralized nervous system.” He looked up at Spock. “Have you sensed anything like what we encountered prior to entry?”

“I have not yet identified a telepathic component, Captain. Associated with the plants or otherwise.”

Jim nodded. “The longer we’re here, the more I wonder just how that probe is even associated with the planet’s surface. Maybe we’ve just been,” he waved his hands, “added to some kind of collection by some distant power.”

Dizziness abruptly threatened him and he closed his eyes, placing his hands flat on the rock. He heard his friend fall to one knee beside him and could feel that odd pushing sensation against his mind again, now accompanied by the clasp of gentle fingers around his wrists. He leaned into it; more than simple pain relief, this was a profound sense of comfort. He felt... _held_.

“What is that?” Jim asked languidly. He chanced a glance at his friend, seeing brows drawn together over tightly shut eyes, a near-grimace of concentration twisting the Vulcan’s face. The captain blinked and looked again, closer, seeing hollowed cheeks, fine lines of stress and fatigue against the bruising, the look of someone fighting desperately hard against some hidden agony.

Startled, Jim blurted, “Spock, I need to know what this is.”

Something broke through. The Vulcan’s eyes opened even as his fingers shifted purposefully and methodically against Jim’s skin and the gentle transference of comfort and reassurance intensified into something more directed, _seeking_.

“Talk to me.” It wasn’t quite an order, but Jim threw the weight of command into his words.

The tightness of Spock’s voice, however, hinted at some persistent distraction. “You were severely injured,” he began slowly.

“Go on,” Jim prompted.

Spock sounded as if each word held immense effort. “After the shuttle crash, your life depended on my immediate intervention.” He took a breath and held it, a very human gesture that stood in stark relief to the Vulcan mysticism enveloping Jim’s consciousness. “I was forced to initiate a bond between us, Jim.”

Jim blinked. “A bond?”

“A…deep mental connection. You are feverish, Jim.” Dark eyes were unfocused, fingers warm on human skin. “Your physical responses indicate a growing systemic imbalance.”

“I don’t feel—.” Jim shook his head. “Hell, I wouldn’t feel anything, would I? You’re stopping my pain, manipulating my physical reactions. You kept me from bleeding out after the crash.”

Spock’s fingertips were still moving over his wrists, feeling out pressure points. “I am redirecting your pain response. And I am able, for a limited time, to apply my own training in physiological regulation to you.”

“Redirecting?” Jim peered at his friend, seeing in a different light the tightness around the Vulcan’s eyes. “You’re feeling my pain? You’re taking it yourself?” He sharply pulled away from Spock’s hands. “No.”

“Pain is a thing of the mind,” Spock replied dismissively. “I am able to control it. You need to return to the cave and—.”

“You were doing this last night? Holy shit, Spock!” Jim exploded, remembering the glimpse of bone, the stench of burned skin, and his friend’s terrorized expression. “That’s too much! That’s too much to ask!”

Spock held his gaze. “You did not ask.”

There was strong emotion somewhere against Jim’s mind, rolling like thunder underneath his thoughts, too quick to capture and too fierce to ignore.

Jim stared at him, his voice catching. “What does it mean, for you to have done this? For us to be connected like this?”

Stubborn reticence, and the captain insisted, “Spock?”

The Vulcan tilted his head. “I do not understand why I failed to recognize the physiological effects of the imbalance earlier.”

“Answer me, damn it!” Jim’s words rang out stridently over the pulsing whisper of the tendrils.

There was finality in Spock’s voice. “What I did went against every Vulcan dictate of mental ethics. What I did, without your consent or even your knowledge, was unforgivable.”

“What does it mean?” Jim pressed, his voice weaker. He had started to shiver again.

“It means that our minds are irrevocably bound together.”

“There was no other way?”

“There was not. Not for you to have survived it.”

Jim watched a transient pattern of dappled orange sun play over Spock’s disheveled dark hair before the shadows captured it. The captain took a deep breath in and then out, feeling sweat bead on his forehead. Vulcan impassivity had cracked and emotion was openly perceptible: effort, urgency, and something else running deeper and far more guarded. Jim wondered if he really saw these changes in Spock’s expression or if he was simply feeling something slipping under and against his own mind, newly tender and exposed.

“You’re...you’re bleeding over,” Jim murmured, tilting his head and concentrating on that parallel thread of emotion, intuitively following it, pressing beyond toward a place that existed in no physical dimension. He felt something give, saw Spock’s eyes soften and then close.

A fleeting instant of hissing dissonance broke sharply into their communion. Spock’s eyes opened and focused on the near vines, and Jim furrowed his brow, fighting another wave of dizziness as the tendrils resumed their previous coordinated movement.

“Had you heard anything like that before? A change, like that?”

“I had not,” Spock said flatly. “However, my perceptions appear to be suboptimal at present.”

“It could have been in response to something. Or a normal part of their functioning.” Jim frowned as he watched Spock rise to his feet. The loosening flow of feeling between them had retreated to a simple pressure against his thoughts and some small, distant thing inside him began to ache.

“Jim! Spock!” Lalitha’s excited voice carried clearly from the cave’s entrance. “Uhura’s got something!”

The captain immediately attempted to stand, hesitating as his head spun. He raised a hand to the Vulcan.

“Help me?”

Spock reached out to clasp Jim’s hand and then to wrap an arm around his body, taking most of the human’s weight as Jim carefully stood, leaning into his friend’s support. Spock was warm and solid against him as they walked the short distance back to the entrance, and, as Lalitha hurried out to help them, the captain found himself reluctant to accept her touch.

“What is it?” Jim asked brusquely.

“I can’t explain it,” she replied. “But Uhura’s pretty excited about it.” She looked him over. “Are you alright?”

“The captain is not,” Spock said. “He requires immediate treatment.” He guided Jim past the entrance to where Nyota and Ocampo were huddled over their equipment. “I shall retrieve the medpack.”

“Everything alright?” Nyota asked, glancing over as Lalitha helped Jim sit.

“Fine. Spock’s got it,” Jim said impatiently. “What do you have?”

She pointed at the tricorder’s small screen. “Ocampo and I have been running diagnostics and connectivity tests between the tricorder and a communicator at proximal distances. If we can’t analyze the interference field directly, maybe we can figure out how it’s affecting normal functioning and deduce something from that.”

Jim nodded as Spock knelt next to him and pulled out the medical scanner. “Go on,” the captain prompted.

“Well, we weren’t getting much until just now, when we were able to discern a surge of energy across all bands.” Nyota tapped the communicator. “The interference field intensified, which is bad for regaining communications or for reasonable long-range scanning capability, but potentially good for us understanding more about it.”

Jim winced as the Vulcan emptied a hypo into his neck. “Just now? We noticed something, too: a change in the motion of those tendril-like leaves on the vines out there that was potentially synchronous to your energy surge. Can you find out where it’s coming from?”

“Not yet,” Nyota answered, “but maybe once I refine one of these algorithms. It’ll take time.”

“Captain,” Spock interjected quietly, “indications are of worsening systemic inflammation. It is imperative that you rest.”

“I know,” Jim said. He winced again as he felt another wave of dizziness and chills, knowing just how much his friend was contending with already. “I know, Spock.”

Nyota exchanged a look with the Vulcan and then nodded at the captain encouragingly. “Go ahead, Captain. This is going to take a while anyway.”

Jim chewed his lip, but acquiesced, handing the phaser to Spock and allowing Lalitha to help him to his feet and then to the rear of the cave, to a pile of thermal blankets illuminated by a dim light pack. Jim lowered himself onto the blankets, shifting until he found a comfortable position. He was watching Nyota and Spock, their heads bent together as they spoke to each other. He saw Nyota reach out and touch the Vulcan’s face, murmuring something with her characteristic earnestness. He saw Spock bow his head, one hand lifting to loosely clasp her hand.

Lalitha moved to sit next to him, blocking his direct view of the two officers. Hear that?” she asked, smiling. “You can hear an underground river from back here. The rush of water is incredibly familiar.”

He nodded, thinking that it was much better than the ambiguous rustle of the tendrils. His mouth felt dry and he was shivering again.

Her smile faded as she gently stroked his hair back from his forehead. “Do you need anything, Jim?”

“I don’t know.” He let his head fall back against the blankets, staring up at the dark ceiling of the cave. He felt weak, and the dizziness was getting worse. “I think I need to close my eyes.”

Lalitha stroked his hair soothingly. “I’m sorry about earlier, when I lost it a bit out there.” She paused. “I was scared.”

“It’s understandable,” Jim murmured. “We’re all scared.”

“I thought you were dead. I know I’ve said it before, but I feel as though I can’t say it enough. When we crashed, I saw you, and I thought you were dead and it was my fault.”

“Your fault?” Jim repeated.

Her hand had paused, and he heard her breath catch slightly before she continued, “I...It was my mission. I’m just so glad you’re here.”

“You shouldn’t be,” Jim said, letting his lips curl in a small smile even as his eyes stayed shut. “You should be angry. Three for three. I wouldn’t be surprised if you never wanted to see me again after this.”

“I think,” she said, “I’m a sucker for hard-luck cases.”

“Lucky me.”

Jim heard her chuckle.

“Lali,” he said, hearing his words begin slur together, “What did you mean when you mentioned the Syndicate, back in the shuttle after we were hit?”

Her hand paused again and he heard her swallow. “The Orions have a significant presence out on the edge of our space. I assumed.”

“They wouldn’t try something like that without...without cause,” Jim whispered. He could feel his heart beating faster and it seemed harder to pull in oxygen. “Charisidon... . Was there something...we don’t...we hadn’t been… ?” He groaned. “Lali, get Spock.”

Lalitha was already calling out for help.


	5. Our Shared Darkness

Chapter Five: Our Shared Darkness

Jim opened gritty eyes, emerging from viscous sleep. He blinked, feeling solid warmth against his body, against his right cheek, hearing the resonance of gentle breathing and the rapid thrum of an alien heart. The hiss of the tendrils outside was swallowed by the more familiar sounds of rain and flowing water.

The captain kept still. He was surrounded in darkness and the scent of humid, cold rock filled his nostrils. Several light packs cast small rectangles of illumination through the cave, their dim glow revealing three sleeping forms nearby. Jim himself was lying on his side against Spock’s body, between the Vulcan’s long legs, his head cradled against Spock’s chest and tucked underneath his chin. One of the Vulcan’s arms was curled protectively around him, fingers pressed against Jim’s face; Spock’s other hand was at his side, gripping the phaser.

In the shadowed quiet and physical closeness Jim could quite clearly feel the deep thread of powerful Vulcan focus humming beneath and within his own mind. They were, here in the damp darkness, as close as they had ever been, pressed together physically and mentally, even breathing in unison. Jim swallowed against his dry throat, not wanting to move from his unlikely position, wishing to stay, just like this, for a time.

The dizziness that had wracked him was gone, and his heart beat steadily. He was warm. He sensed that a semblance of his strength had returned and that he had somehow healed beyond what should have been possible. Jim wondered how long he had been unconscious this time, and what Spock had needed to do to bring him back yet again.

The sense of the bond was intense but one-sided and leaning into it with his unstudied way felt as if he was fighting a strong current. Here, at the very periphery of this newly discovered confluence of their minds, Jim caught flickering, disturbing sensations: something, were it in a human, that would come close to crawling anxiety. Startled, Jim noticed again how tightly Spock’s fingers were wrapped around the hilt of the phaser.

“S-Spock,” Jim finally whispered. He shifted against his friend’s body, feeling the subtle tensing of the Vulcan’s muscles beneath him, the slow but definitive retreat of the mental undertow. “Spock.”

“You are awake.”

Jim swallowed again and nodded, his cheek brushing against the rough material of Spock’s shirt. “Yeah.”

The Vulcan’s fingers lifted from his face and Jim immediately missed their certain presence, reaching instinctively to grasp Spock’s retreating hand. “Wait,” he mumbled. “Don’t… . I mean—.”

Spock did not reply, merely closing his hand around Jim’s and making no other movements. The sense of their connection bloomed stronger, and with it Jim’s perception of his friend’s unease.

A distant sound echoed from the thick night outside the cave; perhaps something falling. Spock’s body wound even tighter underneath him as the Vulcan lifted the phaser at his side.

Jim held his breath; he could feel Spock listening. After nearly a minute of tension, the phaser slowly lowered and Jim felt the Vulcan’s muscles relax.

“What happened?” Jim whispered, mindful of his sleeping crewmembers. “What is it?”

“The inflammatory response had rapidly advanced and you were in danger of systemic collapse. I melded with you to attempt to fortify your own body’s defenses and to focus your physiological response in a manner similar to _tow-kath_ , the healing trance.” Spock’s murmur barely carried over the sounds of the underground river and the rain.

“Like you did before.”

“No, Jim. Before, I was attempting to keep you from exsanguinating. It proved possible to do this even if we were apart, given our bond. This—.” He paused. “This was more complex regulation and required a far more immediate connection.” Spock was listening again, the phaser held ready.

Jim felt his own breath quicken as he lifted his head from his friend’s chest. “What’s wrong?”

“I am not certain.” Spock was uncharacteristically hesitant. “I—.”

“Spock?” Jim prompted urgently, keeping his voice low. “Did you see something? Hear something? The tricorder?”

“Our scanning capabilities are unchanged. The energy surge described by Lieutenant Uhura has not repeated. Once you were out of immediate danger I ordered the others to sleep.” The Vulcan’s brow furrowed as he lowered the phaser. He took a deep breath. “I maintained a light mental touch in order to continue to facilitate your healing.”

Jim shifted again, easing himself backward, letting his friend’s hand go briefly as he moved only to deliberately catch it again. “It worked, obviously. I feel impossibly better. But,” he raised his eyebrows, “something else happened?”

“I sensed something.”

“Something?” Jim repeated, not used to the Vulcan being so imprecise.

“I had…the impression of being watched. Quite illogical.”

Jim took in the Vulcan’s pallor in the low light, his chin shadowed by thickening stubble and dark circles deepening under tired eyes.

“Perhaps not completely illogical,” Jim replied. “Given our circumstances.”

Spock seemed to slump backward against the rough rock wall. “Perhaps.”

“How long was I out?”

“Six point two hours.”

“I feel better,” Jim emphasized, finally releasing Spock and shifting more fully away from his friend to look down at himself. Bandages still covered his wounds under his clothes, but his limbs were moving easier and the ghost of redirected pain was much less. He tilted his head, watching the Vulcan again, venturing, “You?”

“The meld was exhaustive.”

“It can see that,” Jim said. His friend’s fatigue was nearly palpable. Jim frowned and glanced around, seeing one of the water bottles and reaching for it. “You need to sleep, Spock,” he said, gulping the water and wiping his mouth with the back of one hand. “Why don’t you let me take watch and you can—.”

“Negative,” Spock said immediately, weariness coloring his voice. “I am continuing to use our link to actively moderate your pain. Your own strength is far from adequate.”

“Adequate enough to hold a phaser,” Jim muttered.

The Vulcan ignored him, his gaze lifting to the cave’s entrance again and Jim studied him. The touch of chilled humidity in the air sent a shiver down his spine.

“Spock, what exactly did you sense?”

“Not like what we experienced on the shuttle,” Spock finally answered. “Not so…directed and forceful. More…detached and observational. I became aware of it during our meld but was unable to examine it fully.”

“During our meld,” Jim repeated. “Doesn’t the bond go both ways? Why can’t I feel more from you?”

“I am maintaining a level of shielding between us to the extent that I am able, given my attention to your physical responses.”

“Why? What would it be like if you didn’t shield?”

“It would be far more intense and exceedingly intimate,” the Vulcan replied. “It would prove to be overwhelming for both of us in this situation.” A reflected sense of deep fatigue surged between them and Spock swayed. Jim acted without thinking, reaching out to grasp the Vulcan’s shoulders, feeling Spock lean into his touch.

“Jim,” Spock murmured haltingly, “I must confess that, in this, I am quite at a loss. I have no knowledge of what should be, only what is.”

The captain remained quiet, his hands gentle as he waited for his friend to continue.

“I initiated a bond with you as a final resort. It was a decision made without adequate analysis. It was not logical or ethical. It was no guarantee of your life. In fact, the odds that such a connection would allow for your survival were extremely low. No Vulcan would have chosen to attempt it.” Spock kept his head down as the words spilled out in a heated whisper.

“Then I guess it’s good for me that you’re human, too,” Jim commented softly.

Spock flinched. “Jim—.”

“It was human. Your choice to bond with me and to save my life was human. Driven by emotion, not logic?”

Spock bit his lower lip, still averting his eyes. “It was...emotionally necessary. I cannot provide explanation beyond that.” The perceptible mental resonance between them was now fraught, indicating a tremendous strain.

Spock continued, “There are certain aspects of Vulcan culture that transcend logic, that are still with us from ancient times and cannot be denied. Some of these are strictly biological. Others have to do with the mind.”

Jim held still, listening intently.

“I knew of our mental compatibility, but when you—.” Spock swallowed heavily. “After you perished in the warp core, I sensed a severing of something between us: a spontaneous link that should not have existed. Nothing near a bond, but a significant connection nonetheless. My emotional response to that severing was, at the time, somewhat extreme.” He shifted against Jim’s hands.

“And that link reformed? The spontaneous one? After I woke up again?”

Spock made a minute nod and Jim shrugged. “Maybe I’m mistaken, Spock, but it seems as though a bond with me was just the next step. And if I was dying—.”

“Even,” the Vulcan shook his head, “a normal bond, deliberately formed, would not have allowed for what you needed to survive.”

“It wouldn’t?” Jim was confused, and Spock was now visibly agitated.

“Negative. My counterpart did not inform me as to precisely what it was that he shared with his James Kirk, but, in the moment of the crash, I speculated. I...hoped.”

“Hoped? Hoped for what?”

“That they were _t’hy’la_. A particularly strong bond originating in my planet’s warlike history. It has a complex definition, but its closeness would allow for the possibility of saving you. There are ancient texts that describe such interaction between bondmates on the field of battle.”

“Spock,” Jim said slowly. “You’re telling me that you discarded logic and something close to thousands of years of Vulcan civilization to predicate my survival on faith, hope, and,” he lifted his eyebrows, “emotional necessity?”

“I—.” Spock’s mouth opened and closed. “Yes.”

Jim took a moment to digest that. “You said _t’hy’la_ had a complex definition. What does it mean?”

“In modern Vulcan, it may be used to denote a brother. To call a non-relation as such, however, implies a particular bonded relationship defined by uniquely strong compatibility and affection.”

“I guess that describes us,” Jim said dryly.

“It is rare in the current vernacular. In ancient times, however, it referred to shieldmates: friends, brothers-in-arms, and lovers.”

“We’re not lovers,” Jim said cautiously, watching the Vulcan closely.

Spock lifted his chin, directly meeting his eyes. “The definition did not originate within the human scope of the word.”

Jim thought of the press of their hands against a panel of transparent aluminum and again aboard the doomed shuttle. Thinking of what he had dared to want. He realized he, too, had hoped. He hoped, even now. “I think I understand.”

“ _T’hy’la_ means that I am yours, Jim. In whatever way exists between us.”

Jim licked his lips. “Obviously, a hell of a word.”

“There is nothing obvious about it,” Spock said bitterly. He turned his head toward the entrance again.

Jim followed the Vulcan’s line of sight, out to the darkness and the unknown beyond. He swallowed heavily, lost in the sound of water against rock, against alien leaves. And when he finally returned his gaze to his friend, he realized that Spock was watching him. Jim sensed something of an internal struggle in the strange fluttering over their mental connection and in the fleeting expressions on Spock’s face.

“Captain, I do not believe that my perception of...what I sensed is merely a result of fatigue and psionic overload, however, logically, I must acknowledge the possibility.”

“I’m not going to start second-guessing you now,” Jim replied, offering a small smile. “Tired or not, overextended or not, I trust you.” The captain inclined his chin towards the entrance. “Do you feel it now?”

“Possibly.” A pause. “I do not know.” The note of defeat hung in his voice.

Jim watched him. “I invoke my shadow, my other self. Colors unfamiliar yet shapes in sharp relief.”

“Poetry, Captain?”

“Why not? It seems appropriate.” Jim looked at his friend. “Do you know it?”

“I do.” Spock lowered his eyes, quoting, “Falling together, two must balance on a single line, its edges blurred.” He raised an eyebrow.

Jim smiled, studying his friend’s face, recalling the feeling of Spock’s hand on his face, his body and mind curling around him, keeping him safe, keeping him alive. A simple explanation existed but had been deferred, despite their present intimacy, to euphemism. _Emotionally necessary_. Jim allowed himself to savor the words, understanding what had been implied, facing what he himself wanted and now appeared to have. Bondmates. Lovers. He felt a surge of possessive affection, followed by a pang of guilt as he thought of Nyota and how the recognition of their link and Spock’s emotional reaction to its initial severing might have contributed to the end of her relationship.

He saw Spock’s expression shift, and wondered how much of his own musings were filtering through. Sighing, he eased himself over to sit next to the Vulcan, their shoulders touching. He felt Spock shift, leaning into him, and he nodded to himself, focusing on that contact as they faced the darkness together.


	6. Discover

Chapter Six: Discover

Jim grunted, jolting awake again to the sight of cave walls lit by golden-rose light.

“Sorry to wake you, Captain,” Nyota said softly, kneeling next to him. “I have to change your bandages.”

“You draw the short straw?” he croaked, glancing around him for the water he’d nearly drained the night before. He found himself mentally reaching out to his first officer almost as a reflex and he furrowed his brow as he touched what felt like a wall. “Where are the others?”

She smiled, positioning the medpack next to her and then handing him a full bottle of water. “I volunteered, believe it or not. And they’re outside scouting for supplies. Even Ocampo managed to get himself on his feet. How do you feel?”

“I’m… .” He thought about it as he slowly maneuvered himself to sit against the wall. “I’m better. Hungry, even.”

“I think that’s a good sign.” She handed him a ration bar. “Try this.”

“Thanks.” Jim gestured with the water bottle as he bit into the bar. “Any new developments?”

She shrugged noncommittally, her expression carefully blank. “I have to get these changed, Jim. An infection on top of everything else would be—.”

“Right,” he conceded quickly, remembering Spock’s utter exhaustion the night before.

She reached forward. “Lift up, if you can; I need to remove your pants.”

The captain swallowed and braced himself to oblige, unable to prevent a low snort of humor. Nyota rolled her eyes, predictably. “You’re funny,” she said, wielding a probe to dissolve the old bandages. “Enjoy it, because—.” Her voice cut off in a gasp as she stared at his leg. “Good lord. That’s not nearly as bad as it should be.”

Jim peered down at his skin through the blue light of the sterilizing biofield. His leg was still swollen and discolored with garish bruises, but the deep gash was largely sealed, with only a few small drops of dark blood oozing around the closures.

Nyota was tugging gently but insistently at his shirt. “Let me see—.”

He shrugged out of his left sleeve, making a face at the abrupt chill. She immediately made quick work of the bandages encasing his left arm and torso, and he made a quizzical face at her as she leaned back, leaving him half-naked and sprawled against the rock.

“The burns seem well on their way to healing,” she said, waving the medical sensor over his torso and leg. “No infection, but there is some inflammation. And it looks like your blood volume is nearly back to normal, though your white count is still high and your pressure’s low. Your temperature’s on the high side of normal. How’s your pain?”

He shrugged, feeling his face flush under her scrutiny. “It’s fine,” he said, “but, uh—.” He trailed off and then caught her narrowed eyes. “Well, you know.”

“I do know.” Nyota shook her head and began to efficiently apply new layers of liquid bandages. “Spock hasn’t slept,” she continued as she worked. “Not that he’d ever admit he needs it. He’s weak and drained and obviously hasn’t spent any energy healing himself. He looks like he’s going to collapse any second. Again.”

Jim flinched at her accusing tone, cautiously watching her. “Uhura, I didn’t ask for this.”

“I know,” she said, blinking rapidly. “I know. It’s just…not fair.”

He frowned and opened his mouth, and she lifted a hand. “That didn’t come out exactly right. You know that he and I…we’re not together anymore, not like that. And this, between you, has been a long time coming. The way it happened, though, is just another cruelty he’s had to endure.”

Nyota finished applying the bandages. “I’m glad he did it,” she said finally, stiffly. “I wouldn’t want to see what losing you again would have done to him.” She helped him back into his shirt and then gently tugged at the waistband of his pants, pulling them back up as Jim lifted his hips, balancing awkwardly on his right hand.

“Uhura,” Jim said quietly, “neither of you talked to me. About what happened between the two of you or about the link between me and Spock.”

“Vulcans don’t do things that way,” she replied, rapidly repacking the medkit. “They don’t _talk_. They don’t talk about anything, really, unless it’s dragged out of them. And it wasn’t my place to bring it up.”

Jim shrugged slightly and stayed silent as he sealed the front of his shirt, acknowledging her defensiveness.

Nyota abruptly let out a humorless laugh. “Okay. To be frank, I wasn’t exactly comfortable discussing my relationship with my commanding officer, whose untimely death instigated the outburst that broke us up in the first place.”

He felt his face heat again. “I’m sorry.”

“There’s nothing to be sorry for. He never formed a spontaneous mental link with me.”

Jim winced and Nyota glared, her hands in fists on the handles of the medpack. “I was angry at first,” she continued, “because I thought that you were the last thing he needed. I mean, why did it have to be you? And you must’ve seen that he needed you; you must’ve seen that something changed.”

“I—.”

“Or maybe you were just too busy with Commissioner Trade Summit out there.” She held his gaze challengingly, and then her expression crumpled as she slowly stood up, reaching down to assist him as he levered himself to his feet. “I’m sorry, Jim. I’m out of line; I’m tired and I’m afraid, and it’s hard to see Spock like this and not be able to do anything to help.” She paused. “It’s been hard with him for a while now.”

“It’s fine,” he said, testing his weight on unsteady legs. He met her eyes, emphasizing their contact. “I understand.” His head had started to ache and he couldn’t help himself from another foolhardy mental push. The bond’s warmth was still there, but substantially muted, and trended away into that irritating barrier in his mind.

Nyota released him and had begun to turn away when he touched her arm again. “Speaking of Lalitha—.”

“Jim, I just can’t talk about this anymore.”

“No, I need to ask you about this before I pass out again or something else happens.”

Nyota shot a sidelong glance towards the entrance and crossed her arms. “Okay.”

He lowered his hand and leaned against the rock for support. “What do you think about Lalitha’s hypothesis regarding Orion involvement with the minefield.”

Nyota’s eyebrows arched. “Oh, is that her hypothesis?”

“What’s your opinion?”

“Well, Captain, none of the colonies or independent systems that were involved in the trade summit were the kind of heavy hitters that could pay for and set up that kind of trap, especially with the intelligence network required to get our flightpath. The Orions might, but they generally like to run under the radar, and they wouldn’t risk the kind of collateral damage that type of action would involve unless there was a good reason.”

“So, who does that leave?”

“Aside from a multitude of disgruntled former Section Thirty-one associates or the Klingons?” She shrugged. “I don’t know. It would have to be someone with connections.”

“I keep getting the feeling that there’s something Lali’s not telling me.”

Nyota surreptitiously glanced at the entrance again. “Obviously, I have my own personal bias regarding the commissioner,” she said pointedly. “But, she was just promoted to a high-turnover, high-profile position with not much in the way of operational experience. And she likes to throw around her association with you. She asked you, personally, to be a part of the summit, didn’t she?”

“Yeah,” Jim replied. “But our orders themselves came down from Fleet, not the administrative section. The mission looked pretty straightforward, even with that kind of operational security.” He frowned as she looked off to the side again. “Uhura?”

Her expression twisted guiltily. “There’s something outside you should take a look at, sir.”

He moved abruptly away from the wall, limping past her toward the entrance.

“Captain! You have to take it easy.”

“I’m okay,” he insisted. “I’ve got it.” He blinked in the suddenly bright light as he walked out into the cool morning, the ground squelching wetly under his boots.

“Shit,” he muttered, staring at the boundary of the forest where an array of thick vines had crawled out into the clearing and lifted to stand like sentinels from the ground. Directly facing the cave entrance, they unfurled into broad leafy fans that stretched a meter across and easily two meters high. Jim took a step forward, throwing a glare at Nyota as she emerged behind him. “Why didn’t you tell me about this right away?” he snapped.

“Orders,” she said soberly. “There was a real chance you wouldn’t have let me fix you up.”

“Captain.” Spock moved from behind the outermost fan, carefully giving it a wide berth, and Jim’s burst of anger cooled rapidly as he took in his friend’s slumped posture and pinched, too-pale countenance.

“Spock.” With the Vulcan standing in front of him, Jim again reflexively reached for their bond, feeling a wave of consternation as the intervening shield only seemed to harden.

Spock visibly flinched, but kept speaking, “Captain, we recognized this development one point two hours ago, at first light. It appears to be restricted to this immediate vicinity, but I have requested that Yeoman Ocampo and the commissioner investigate our surroundings. They should return shortly. I have made a cursory examination of the new structures, but data is limited given our lack of scanning capability.” He raised his eyebrows slightly. “Given this change, I believe it is prudent to take all possible precautions.”

Jim set his jaw, extrapolating to the presence of this new barrier between their minds. “Okay. What do you have?” He limped over to stand next to the Vulcan in front of the nearest fan, sensing Nyota follow him. The tendrils were smaller here, and thinner, and, as he approached, he saw ripples of silver color that initiated at the center of the fan, shifting and expanding to form a fractal pattern that shimmered along the surface to pulse outward and disappear out along the edge.

“Observe, Captain, that the patterns appear to coincide with our movements and voices.”

“The patterns shift, too, depending on what they’re picking up,” Nyota added.

Jim watched as the silvery cascade produced by her voice faded down to the left of the fan. “You were right, Spock,” he said quietly. “We are being observed.”

A rustle of clothing and cautious footsteps preceded Ocampo and Lalitha’s arrival back in the clearing, and the commissioner hurried immediately to Jim’s side.

“Jim!” she exclaimed. “You’re alright?”

“I’m fine,” he replied, waving away her offered arm. “What did you find?”

“We surveyed out to a half-kilometer into the forest, Captain,” Ocampo offered, standing behind the commissioner. “No other signs of anything else like this. Just the uniform vegetation all around us. What do you think it is, sir?”

The captain stepped in to closely study the nearest fan, watching as his small movements translated into a sheen of silver. “Possibly observational,” he pondered. “Data being captured and then stored? Or transmitted?” He sensed Spock’s presence close behind him as he eased around the far side of the fan, peering at the improbable way the tendril-covered vines supported its weight in the rain-soaked ground. “Spock, your initial impressions included the possibility that the tendrils might be participating in some function such as communication. Maybe these structures are an interface to something else.”

“Possibly,” Spock replied. “There is, however, no indication that data transfer is being reciprocated.”

“But, Captain,” Ocampo said, “why use that…that invasive probe while we’re in space, and then not when we’re here? Why set up some kind of passive observation system?”

“Using that other kind of probe would have killed us,” Lalitha remarked.

“I concur with the commissioner,” Spock said. “An initial direct but destructive probe could logically be followed by passive observation to allow additional data to be collected regarding a particular point of interest.”

Nyota glanced around at the others. “We’re probably the first examples of our respective species that this planet has seen. I’d say that’s a significant point of interest.”

“We can’t be certain of that,” Jim said, tilting his head up, his eyes following the tapered point of the fan. “There’s no reason to believe we’re the first to have been captured like this.” He looked at the others. “It’s a big planet.”

Lalitha was shifting nervously, her eyes glued to the fans. “What happens after the data is collected?”

Jim shifted his weight. The others were glancing around uncertainly, and Jim sharply remembered the terrible sense of their fear and how it had curled inside him. He inadvertently pushed again at his friend’s mental shield and immediately regretted it as Spock flinched again. Around them, the air had shifted, clouds blotting out the gold of the morning sun and the cloying scent of the vegetation diminishing as a chill breeze picked up. The fine hairs along Jim’s neck rose as lightning flashed above them and the low roll of thunder sounded across the forest.

“Take shelter!” he ordered, now grateful for Lalitha’s supporting arm. “Everyone, get back inside!” Thunder rolled again, and they ducked into their shelter as the sky completely opened up.

“I don’t understand, sir.” Ocampo burst out, hovering just inside the entrance. “Why are we coming back here? With those things out there just…watching us like that? Why don’t we get out of here? Go somewhere else?”

Jim had leaned against the rock wall a couple meters in, away from the splash of rain, his muscles shaking and weak from the sudden exertion.

“Yeoman,” he said, addressing the younger man, “You make a good point, but, the truth is that there’s nowhere else to go. If there’s even a chance for communication, then I believe we need to let it play out.”

“We’re being studied, Captain! And what happens when they’re done with us? They just give us another ship and send us on our way?”

“We’re in unexplored space, Yeoman,” Jim began. “I don’t—.”

Ocampo held out his hands earnestly. “We…respectfully, sir, we have phasers. If we’re not going to run, I suggest that we think about using them.”

“Ocampo, listen to me. We’re still Starfleet officers. We have our duty, even out here. _Especially_ out here. This is our job, whether we have a ship in orbit above us or not.” Jim softened his tone. “Do you understand?”

Ocampo nodded. “Yes…yes, sir.”

“Good.” Jim shifted his weight fully onto his right leg, wincing slightly. “No use of phasers outside of a direct order; that goes for everyone.”

“Aye,” Ocampo said, lowering his head.

“I have to sit down,” the captain said abruptly, reaching for his first officer. Spock wrapped an arm around him immediately, taking most of his weight.

Lalitha touched Ocampo’s arm. “Come on, Arturo,” she said gently. “Let’s go sit down, too. You’ve had a rough couple days.”

He flushed, managing a small smile, and followed her to the rear of the cave to sit down on a pile of blankets, his head in his hands.

Away from the rain and tucked back against the wind, Jim nevertheless had a view of the new structures arrayed several meters away, partially obscured by the downpour. Nyota had accompanied the command team as they moved further in and waited until the captain had settled onto the floor to pointedly tilt her chin in the direction of Ocampo.

Jim shook his head. “His first away mission,” he said, quietly enough for their ears only. “And he almost died.”

Nyota shrugged. “Still.”

“I know,” Jim said. He stretched his back, grunting at the strain. “Keep an eye on him.”

“And what about us?” Nyota asked, glancing at Lalitha as she rejoined them.

“We wait,” Jim said simply. “Wait for the weather to break or for some other development. Watch for another energy surge. Stay warm and hydrated. Eat.” He managed a wan grin as he tilted his chin toward the fans. “Avoid discussing classified Starfleet information.”

The commissioner let out a forced laugh as Nyota shook her head.

“Uhura, keep working on the tricorder,” Jim ordered. “See what Lali can do to help you.” He inclined his head in a gesture of gentle dismissal. “I need to talk to Spock.”

Lalitha flashed him a quizzical look, but Nyota nodded firmly, diverting the other woman’s attention. “Do you have any experience in frequency localization theory, Commissioner?”

“Not exactly,” Lalitha replied dryly.

“Never too early to begin,” Nyota said. The two women crossed to the other side of the cave, to the tricorder and other equipment.

Jim leaned his head back, meeting his first officer’s eyes as Spock lowered himself to sit next to his captain.

“I want your opinion regarding telepathic surveillance,” Jim said. “Judging by the additional barrier that appeared in my head, you must think it’s a possibility.”

“A precaution, Captain,” the Vulcan answered. The corners of his mouth turned down. “I find your ability to distinguish it fascinating.”

“I don’t much like it,” Jim pronounced, offering a half-smile. “Go on.”

“There may indeed be a background psionic component here, related or even integral to the interference structure affecting our equipment. I cannot determine with any certainty if such a component is capable of directly interrogating our minds, however. I have not sensed such.”

“Does this confirm a sentient origin?”

“Not necessarily. There are instances of natural materials holding a psi signature. For example, on Ferrer’s World… .”

“Okay, right.” Jim interrupted, shifting his weight uncomfortably. “You mean the rock formations that the batlike inhabitants used for telepathic navigation and communication. You melded with one in order to divert a mass migration through a radiation trail, as I remember.”

“Yes.”

“You didn’t seem too certain about all this last night.”

“I am still not certain, but I was able to reflect further upon my perceptions,” Spock replied. “What I am able to sense, either on the surface of this planet, or what we all experienced immediately prior to the shuttle’s descent into atmosphere defies the regular definition of psionic interaction.”

“Explain.”

“I have reached no conclusions, only the broadest comparison based on previous experience.”

“I understand,” Jim said, nodding for him to continue.

“What I have perceived here is faint, nonconstant, and quite unlike any sentient telepathic presence that I have before encountered.” Spock paused, folding his hands together, fingertips touching his lips. “There is directed purpose, but no reflected sense of self.”

“That sounds like a computer.”

“I do not know.” Spock lowered his eyes. “I have increased the shielding between us as much as I dare. My present instability is no doubt detrimental to my ability to analyze the situation.”

Jim hummed. “Humans like to boast that they make decisions based on instinct. For the most part it gets us into trouble, but sometimes a gut reaction is the correct one, and you only realize it after the fact.”

“I am not human,” Spock said.

“Yeah, but now you’re bonded to one, and actively participating in regulating my systems. I know you might see your ‘present instability” as weakness, but, in my judgement and given our situation, your instincts aren’t anything we can afford to ignore.” He paused as Spock’s eyes rose to meet his own, the lifting of a single brow conceding the point.

“Okay,” Jim continued, “tell me more about regular psionic energies.”

“My attempt to meld with the rock formation was unique in that its mineral composition reacted with a microbial mat to produce energy in part of the spectrum associated with neural activation in psi-sensitive individuals, including myself and, of course, the planet’s inhabitants. During my extensive training in the mind disciplines, never was the possibility of such a meld introduced.”

“I remember you discussing that. You wrote a paper about it.”

“A paper that was not accepted for publication. Even in other telepathic cultures, the science behind psi contact has regularly been neglected in favor of the cultural norms defining the contact. Vulcan, of course, has prohibitive cultural taboo associated with the use of the meld outside specific avenues.”

“I can believe that,” Jim remarked.

Spock lowered his hands to lay loosely on his lap. “In Vulcan culture, the acknowledgment of the profound intimacy of that level of mental contact precludes casual practice.”

“I see.”

“Do you understand the implications for our present circumstances, Captain?”

Jim cleared his throat. “I think so. Given the lack of practice of the mind disciplines outside of culturally dictated situations, it would be considered highly irregular to attempt to join in any other circumstances. It would be even more irregular to join with a non-Vulcan. And joining with anything else: a rock formation or a computer or something else that happens to be psionically active is therefore practically inconceivable.”

“There are no data available on such a thing, even if I had full access to the computers on the _Enterprise_.”

“It sounds like you might not need the computers, Spock. You’re the expert.”

“Indeed.” Spock exhaled heavily, weariness pulling at his features.

“Look, I don’t want you to meld with, uh, whatever this is. That unchecked power that we felt on the shuttle isn’t something I want any of us to tangle with, assuming that’s where this is going. But, your prior experience could prove to be our ace in the hole.” He shook his head. “If you haven’t simply collapsed again from sheer exhaustion.”

Jim shifted deliberately closer. “Spock, I need you to rest. Somehow, I need you to sleep or to shut down for a while. Let yourself recover.”

“I—.” Spock stopped at the fiercely determined expression on Jim’s face. “I will attempt meditation. I will be able to continue to provide you support through the bond while compartmentalizing my own recovery.”

“Alright.”

Jim watched as Spock settled himself into a cross-legged position, his back straight but his chin lowered, his hands coming together in his lap. The weakened sensations between them had calmed too, to the point of being barely there at all. The captain fought against a sharp feeling of loss, comforting himself with the slightest slackening of the tension in the Vulcan’s face, the gentler set to his shoulders.

“Uhura?” Jim called quietly, focusing across the cave where the communications officer and the commissioner were bent over the tricorder.

“I’ve got it a bit better tuned, Captain,” Nyota replied. “It’ll notify us in the event of another energy surge, but it’s just a waiting game at this point.” She peered at Spock. “Is he—?”

“He’s okay,” Jim said. “Or he will be, hopefully. “

“Good.” Her expression still held concern, but she seemed satisfied.

Jim nodded to himself, turning to stare at the rain again, the outline of the fan-like structure barely visible through the latest deluge. He couldn’t shake the odd sense that they were waiting as well.


	7. Divide

Chapter Seven: Divide

Hours had passed and the rain continued. Low afternoon light filtered through passing clouds, shifting like ghosts against the dimness of the cave. Jim sat silent and still next to Spock. Across the short expanse of rock, against the opposite wall, Nyota watched them contemplatively, holding the tricorder in both hands like a precious thing. Lalitha, next to her, was trying to sleep, her head tipped back, every now and then casting an annoyed glance at the yeoman who was sprawled and snoring across the pile of blankets. The underground river was now a roar, overriding even the rain. The Vulcan was still meditating, his breathing too quiet to be heard, but his chest expanded and contracted in tandem with Jim’s own.

A chill had seeped into the captain’s body, the rock’s solidity supporting but unforgiving. He didn’t move, though, not wanting to disturb the careful and pleasant equilibrium that existed between him and his bondmate. Barriers had grown vague and pliable as the touch of Spock’s mind gradually slipped again along the edges of Jim’s thoughts and the captain had closed his eyes to replace uncertain sight with more acceptable darkness. He could concentrate better this way, embracing that gentle warmth. It felt constant and familiar, undeniably kindred and yet just slightly out of reach. The forbidding and uncomfortable shield had dissolved into an approachable boundary, an evolution that was, Jim reflected, very similar to their own relationship.

How much had changed, and how very much had been revealed, now that Jim had time to truly consider what had transpired between them. Jim recalled his friend’s tormented expression and the perceptible guilt and desperation that had pervaded the Vulcan’s description of his supposed transgression. And of Spock’s admission, however obscurely worded, of love.

Lalitha had teased Jim relentlessly during their time in the Fleet hospital in San Francisco, speculating about why he had a Vulcan haunting his door. And now he knew.

 _T’hy’la_ , Spock had called it. A type of connection that reached into the depth of his lost planet’s history and evidently transcended universes. Something exceedingly rare and precious. He remembered Spock’s words: _I am yours, Jim. In whatever way exists between us_. Said with profound certainty, unquestioning, and meant for life. Jim’s own carefully hidden desires and imaginations of closeness and watchful _wanting_ were now reduced to the simple fact that he loved his friend, too. The growing complexity of what they were now, though, seemed to cast love as only the starting point, and Jim felt lost or, at the least, in danger of being left behind.

Shadows seemed to loom in the darkness behind his eyes and Jim followed the warmth between them, feeling out the knife edge between caution and needing. The horizon of his bondmate’s presence hovered tantalizingly, and it was only at the cusp of potential retreat, as his mind relaxed, that it seemed to expand to meet him. Jim dared to lean into it, as he had done before, unsure of exactly what he was doing, but feeling it grow deeper and clearer.

Their connection intensified as he pushed through that now-gossamer boundary; he was surrounded in something ordered and powerfully streaming, enthralling. He probed further, caught in the current, and felt it deepen even more, subsuming him. He had lost all sense of his physical self, and bright emotion splashed, adding color to parallel lines. So many places, and every one of them rising to meet him, helplessly attracted to his color, his presence, his acceptance of the chaos of effortless feeling. He tumbled past other, falling, barriers, lost in brief ecstasy, everywhere all at once and then, abruptly, nowhere. The warmth fractured into a landscape of sharp, ripping loss, and he heard a distant cry juxtaposed over yawning grief… .

“ _Kroykah_! _T’hy’la_ , stop!”

Jim opened his eyes with a gasp, disoriented. “What is that?” he choked, still held by the vestiges of that sickening sense of _absence_. “What happened?”

“You,” Spock grated, now on his hands and knees as if attempting to crawl away. “You…manipulated the bond. I was not…prepared.”

Jim could _feel_ mental barriers trying to rise again, the mental backwash surging and fading in waves. He felt nauseous, a sharp metallic taste at the back of his mouth.

“I didn’t know—,” Jim whispered. “I didn’t know what I was doing.”

Spock collapsed in front of him. Barriers rose again and this time they held, strengthening to the point where Jim could barely feel anything at all of his friend. The captain groaned as previously mitigated pain from healing injuries pounded back in time with his frantic heartbeat.

“Spock!” Uhura was next to them, kneeling next to her former lover, her hands on his shoulders, cradling his head. “Spock?”

The tricorder, fallen to the rock floor at Uhura’s side, had begun to beep insistently, and Jim scrabbled for it, fumbling with the controls. Ocampo had shot awake, his eyes huge; Lalitha was crouching defensively.

“It’s the energy surge again,” Jim hissed. “Greater magnitude. Much greater. And increasing.”

The rush of water both inside and out had turned into the rush of something else and Jim yelled out a wordless warning as a mass of slithering vines appeared from the rear of the cave, cracking through rock, the frantic susurrus of thousands of tendrils filling his ears.

Inexorable creep, their speed increasing as they advanced, and they wrapped around Nyota’s waist with fierce strength.

“No!” Jim dropped the tricorder and pushed off from the wall, feeling something tear in his leg, grabbing for Nyota’s arm and missing as the vine dragged her, fighting, away from him and toward Lalitha, who was now plastered against the far wall. The tricorder’s shrill alarm could barely be heard over the noise of vines over rock, the rustle of tendrils, and Nyota’s cries.

More vines slid in, layering over the ones before, and Jim crawled forward; his leg felt like it was on fire. None of the vines were touching him, though, or Spock. Or Ocampo, who had struggled to his knees, fumbling in the survival case and coming out with a phaser clutched in his hands.

Jim opened his mouth to yell, but the yeoman had already begun to fire. Instantaneously, the hiss became a fierce roar as hundreds of vines poured in, even faster, filling the cave with viscous sea-green. They snaked around him, blocking his view of the others and filling the space from floor to rocky ceiling. Jim could hear the phaser’s muffled whine over and over, growing more and more faint. He could hear Nyota distantly shouting; he could hear Lalitha scream. And then there was an eerie, abrupt, quasi-silence. Larger movement had ceased, and the tendrils swayed in waves of sinuous slow-motion, their hiss dampening to a whisper.

“Uhura!” Jim yelled, managing to sit up, his injured leg stretched out in front of him. He uselessly shoved and clawed at the nearest section of the entrapping vegetation. “Uhura?”

“I’m…I’m here! We’re here!”

Her reply sounded faraway, muted by the layers of vegetation. Jim stared around the small space that he now shared with his first officer, still lying on the floor against the wall. Only dim shades of eerie bluish light filtered in, making it hard to see.

“Captain!” Nyota called again. “We’re surrounded by these vines! I’ve got the commissioner here with me, but Ocampo is outside somewhere. I can’t hear him anymore.”

“Ocampo!” Jim tried. “Arturo! Arturo, can you hear me?”

There was no answer, and Jim gritted his teeth against pain throbbing across the left side of his body. “Uhura, are you alright?” Jim yelled out. “How’s Lali?”

“I’m okay; they let me go. She’s unconscious. She tripped and fell when the vines surrounded us. How’s Spock?”

“I don’t know yet.” Jim coughed in the suddenly humid and stuffy air. “Spock?” He reached out, gripping his friend’s shoulders, shaking him slightly. “Spock!”

The Vulcan finally responded, his body tensing, hands lifting between them to clasp the front of Jim’s shirt. He didn’t pull or pull away, but merely held on, rapid, shallow breathing slowly steadying. Jim felt his own pain melt away again, the sharp barrier between their minds easing enough for him to peripherally sense the bond again: sharp and agitated.

“Jim,” Spock murmured. His eyes opened and widened as he took in their situation. “Nyota?”

“She’s okay,” Jim said quickly. “She’s with Lalitha, on the other side of all these vines. Trapped in another pocket. I don’t know what happened to Ocampo.”

Spock gently pulled back, letting Jim’s hands slide down over his shoulders as he sat up. The Vulcan’s hands loosened to fall into his own lap, laying palm-up and fingers slightly curled.

Jim peered at him, almost breathless with the sudden absence of pain. “Something happened to you. And then the tricorder alarm went off indicating another energy surge. The vines started coming in fast and Ocampo started firing one of the phasers.” He shook his head. “I couldn’t see where they originated. From the rear of the cave, possibly from that underground river.”

“I apologize for my reaction,” Spock said. “And for being un…unable to help.”

“There wasn’t anything you could have done,” Jim said. “Uhura was right here at your side and they dragged her away like it was nothing.” He grimaced. “Did I hurt you? Or did something else—.”

“This was your doing, Jim, but not your fault; you did nothing wrong. To...to the contrary, in fact.”

“I don’t understand.”

Spock closed his eyes briefly.

“Jim?” Uhura’s voice sounded frantic.

“I’ve got him,” Jim called back. “He’s awake and talking.”

“The vines attenuate sound quite effectively,” Spock commented.

“For fuck’s sake.” Jim clenched his hands into fists and pressed them to his forehead. “I want a straight answer, dammit. What did I do to you? Was that the overwhelming thing that you said might happen?”

“Partly.” Spock frowned. “I was unprepared for your mind to venture along the bond in that manner and for your…your preternatural ability to thwart my shielding. The…what you felt was psi-injury remaining from the fall of T’Khasi.”

“I’m no telepath,” Jim said. “Of course you wouldn’t think that I’d—.”

“You are my bondmate,” Spock interrupted firmly, his eyes dark pools against pale skin. “It is your right to...to reach out as you did. In fact, it is something that is most...natural and cherished between bondmates, but our...our bond stands in a mindscape of loss and I have failed you.”

Jim chewed his lip, not knowing what to say. He remembered Uhura’s remark about the bond having come so cruelly between them.

“Do you now understand the gravity of what I have done, Captain? Without your consent, I have bound you to a broken mind. I have destroyed that which—.”

“Fuck that,” Jim snapped. “I am bound to _you_ ; to my friend. To the man who has saved my life again and again. You’re hurt and exhausted and are dealing with emotional and physical stresses that I can’t imagine. You’ve bared your soul, and for me.”

Jim paused, his jaw tightening, his voice turning impassioned. “Let me tell you what I understand. This bond formed between us under the worst possible circumstances and has been under continuous strain. And then I tested it again in a way that neither of us anticipated or were prepared for. Of course something had to give, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to give up. And I’m certainly not going to blame you for any trauma that resulted from that horrible day when your planet fell.”

“Jim—.”

“You haven’t failed me, Spock. You haven’t destroyed anything except that uncertain place between us that neither of us had yet dared to cross.” He drew in a deep breath. “Each of us had reasons for keeping that distance, but there’s also a reason I reach like I do for your mind. There’s a reason that you reached for mine, even before this damnable mission forced you.”

Silence stretched between them, and Jim could feel the Vulcan’s gaze on him.

“Isn’t there?” Jim pressed.

Spock lifted one hand, pairing two fingers to tentatively trace Jim’s cheekbone. “Yes.”

Jim tilted his head into the feather-light contact. “Now we’re on the same page.”

“Your...your touch—.” Spock paused, his eyes fastened where his fingertips caressed his bondmate’s skin. “The probe…the energy associated with this place appear to be sensitive to the natural telepathic transference that occurs between us, that defines our bond. I do not know what this portends except that the bond’s very existence reveals our respective vulnerabilities.”

Jim watched him, seeing dark eyes shift to meet his own. The captain raised his eyebrows in a question.

“Your physical weakness,” Spock clarified evenly, resignedly. “And my emotional weakness.”

“Your planet?”

“You, Jim.”

Jim gazed at the Vulcan’s carefully impassive features. “I know,” he sighed, “but, for the record, Spock, that particular weakness goes for me as well, with you.” He let a soft smile curve his mouth before sobering, moving reluctantly away from his friend’s touch.

“If you’re right,” Jim continued, “then I think I know what triggered this.” He gestured around them. “The tricorder started beeping when I,” he hesitated, searching for the words, “I pushed into your mind along the bond. When you cried out for me to stop.”

Spock’s brow furrowed as he studied the vines around them. “Fascinating.”

Jim nodded. “Yeah.” He raised his voice. “Uhura? Any change?”

“Lalitha’s still out. I still can’t hear anything from Ocampo. It’s gotten pretty warm in here, Captain. I think there’s active fluid flow within these vines. Some kind of exothermic vascular system.”

“Got it.”

“Are we just waiting it out again?” Even with her voice muffled, the sarcasm came through.

“Not much else we can do,” Jim shouted. “I don’t see an exit.”

He heard her spout an impressive litany of profanity behind the vines.

“Are you alright?” Jim asked, turning again to the other man.

“I am not. It does not matter.”

“The psi component here,” Jim muttered. “Maybe the connection between us is the form of communication it’s been looking for.” He rubbed at his face and tentatively crawled over to the nearest section of vines, tilting his head as he studied the color and texture. There was indeed a slipstream flowing beneath the tendrilled exterior, causing the colors to shift minutely.

“Spock,” Jim said carefully. “What if you fully lowered your shielding between us and let me in again?”

The Vulcan flinched. “I do not…I do not believe that is wise, Jim.”

“Listen,” Jim said finally. “When we were on the shuttle, we didn’t have a bond yet, but we did have that link, that prior connection. I reached for you along that link and the probe seemed to recognize that and it backed off. It brought us down, but it backed off. Right?”

“Yes.”

“And when we were in the clearing together and we…we…our minds connected, the tendrils around us reacted and that energy surge first registered on the tricorder.” He pointed to his head. “You melded with me last night, and that’s when you felt like we were being watched. And then those fan-like structures appeared!”

“Yes.” Spock lowered his eyes.

“Finally, here, just now, I reached into your mind along the bond and things really started to happen. Each time we actively connect there’s a response, and more of a response when I’m the one pushing the connection.”

“I do not—.”

“When you touch me, when you regulate my pain, your touch is controlled and focused and carefully shielded except for that specific interaction. There’s no extraneous emotion. When I reach for you, I assume it’s anything but.”

“That is accurate,” Spock said, looking up again.

Jim pressed his lips together. “Maybe it’s reacting to the emotion between us. Maybe it’s looking for something like that.”

“I hate asking for this,” the captain continued. “I don’t want to hurt you again, but I don’t know what else to do, what else to try. We can’t run from it; we can’t hide from it.” Jim leaned forward. “We need to go out and find it. See if we can meet it on our terms. See if we can communicate with whatever this is.”

Spock tilted his head. “Fascinating.”

“What is?”

“Your consistency with respect to the unknown or the impossible.”

Jim managed a fleeting smile. “Thanks, I think.”

“You do not need to convince me, Jim. I understand. I merely doubt my own abilities.”

“I don’t,” Jim said firmly. “I’m living proof of your abilities.”

Spock visibly swallowed and straightened his shoulders, folding his hands in front of him. “I will lift my shielding.”

Jim reached out instinctively, placing his hand over his bondmate’s clasped ones, closing his eyes as he felt mental walls slowly, painstakingly dissipate. There was an awful sense of deliberate exposure, as if a raw wound was being unwrapped and left vulnerable. But this time, with the experience of having done it before, Jim followed the warmth of his friend’s mind with every bit of restraint he could manage.

It was easier, this time. And Jim focused on the gentle feelings between them, of trust and loyalty, of sacrifice and respect. Of love. _Love_ , his mind confirmed, emphasized. Love is a powerful thing, reflected in the things it inspires one to do for another as well as in the terrible depths of grief and loss that follow in its wake. He could see both of those in his friend’s mind now. In the swirling eddies of their bondspace.

_“Jim.”_

His name was spoken urgently, either mentally or out loud, and he reluctantly pulled back, pulled away, blinking in the murky bluish-green light to see Spock staring over his shoulder.

“It may have worked,” the Vulcan whispered.


	8. Closer

Chapter Eight: Closer

The captain spun around. Vines layered two meters above the floor had twisted and sprouted, unfurling a fan-like structure similar to those they had observed outside the cave. This one was smaller, however, and had an even denser, fur-like covering of tendrils across its entire surface. It slowly swiveled to face them, as all around them rose a growing dissonant hiss. Jim crawled backwards, glancing around as the walls of vines seemed to undulate.

“Readings are completely blanked,” Spock said tightly, glancing from the newest fan to the tricorder screen. “The interference is dominating everything: all wavelengths, all channels. The intensity is at least three orders of magnitude beyond anything we have recorded thus far.”

Jim stared at the fan, at rapid showers of silver that seemed to have nothing to do with their movements or speech. “Is it a being, or is it something else? An interface?” He eyed the pulsing flow beneath the surface of the vines. “You’ve heard of hydrophilic cells that approximate neurons.” He glanced at Spock. “Interacting by electrical impulses carried through saline fluid?”

The Vulcan followed his captain’s gaze. “That has been hypothesized. However, studies indicate that energy transfer potential is limited.” He lowered the useless tricorder. “In this case, observations of growth rate and demonstrated sensitivity to telepathic activity suggests that energy transfer does not appear to be a problem.”

“The interference field is being generated from somewhere. The increased intensity may mean that, if this is an interface, it might lead to it. To a central brain.” Jim slowly rose to his feet and promptly staggered, his weakened leg giving out underneath him. Spock, having risen with him, caught him, wrapping his free arm around the captain’s body for support. At their touch, the fan visibly shifted, the fine tendrils shivering faster, the center sparkling with a static pattern of silver coloration.

“Look at that,” Jim murmured. “It responded to our contact.” He hopped slightly on his good foot, remembering the clarity that came with touch. “Take my hand,” he said, reaching across Spock’s body.

“Jim—.”

“Take my hand. I have an idea.”

The Vulcan exhaled slightly but obeyed the order, his body strung taut as he reached out in turn.

Jim didn’t hesitate to entwine their fingers, his perception of their bond deepening at the press of skin. Spock’s mind was still unguarded, and Jim focused to avoid being drawn into the swift and compelling current of his bondmate’s thoughts. The tendrils became a whispering blur as the shining pattern began to expand outwards in waves.

“Is it the contact, or our emotions?” Jim asked. He quickly glanced at his friend.

“We are bonded,” the Vulcan replied, as if that answered the question. There was some odd fluctuation within their bond, at the very edges…crawling… .

Jim narrowed his eyes, staring at the fan. Something wasn’t right; he felt it in his gut. “Spock, raise your—.”

A muffled scream—Ocampo’s voice—came from behind the vines. Again and again, the screams becoming raw.

Jim broke away from his first officer. “Ocampo! Arturo!”

And then, from a different place, Nyota was yelling, “Captain! Captain, something’s happening! There’s a…a fan forming right next to us. It’s… . No, no!” Her voice cut off sharply, and Ocampo’s screams stopped at the same time.

“Uhura! Ocampo!” Jim yelled, fighting panic and terrifying helplessness and a sudden, inexplicable pressure inside his head. “Are you alright?”

Spock made a choked sound behind him and Jim spun, seeing his bondmate’s hands at his temples. The pressure was worse, a creeping chill expanding out to fill the mindspace between them. There was stark numbness, a strong sense of violation. Jim could feel Spock fighting, shields snapping back into place, but the thing was already inside.

Jim stumbled back, falling to his knees as Spock did the same. The fan had extended toward them, its surface gone completely silver. The captain’s ears were ringing, his body trembling. “Spock,” he whispered, “what is that?”

“I do not…I do not—.” Spock could barely talk, his hands completely over his face, fingers pressing into his own flesh hard enough that his blunt nails were digging into his skin. Jim gasped for air, rolling onto his side as his injuries ached sharply. He reached for his bondmate, his hand curling around the Vulcan’s bicep.

“Spock?”

The Vulcan let out a single, sharp cry, wrenching away from the captain. “Jim!” He was forcing the words out. “Powerful…presence. It needs…it wants—.” Spock cried out again, and Jim shuddered as the bond between them turned to ice from the inside out. It felt sickening, repulsive, seeping into his nervous system, and Jim wretched, spitting bloody mucus onto the floor of the cave.

Shields abruptly slammed down between him and the thing, between him and his bondmate, and Jim gasped, mentally flailing against the strange residue that seemed to cling to him. His injuries burned; all of Spock’s previous help, the warmth and the healing and the strength, the _contact_ , was strikingly absent.

His bondmate was still on the floor. Blood had oozed from his nose and ears, unevenly coating his face. His eyes were unfocused and half-lidded, his breathing coming in uneven, short gasps.

The vines themselves began to unwind, retreating nearly as quickly as they had advanced. Crystalline light reflected the beginning of sunset in puddles at the entrance of the cave, and in only a few seconds vacant chill replaced close humidity, the air still holding its cloying scent. Nyota and Lalitha were lying against the far wall, their arms around each other as if in a final defense. Ocampo was curled, facing away from all of them. He did not appear to be breathing.

Jim’s head fell back against the damp rock, shivering and exhausted even by that small effort. He licked dry, trembling lips. “Spock,” he whispered.

There was nothing; no response, no additional movement, and Jim moaned, closing his eyes and trying to push through what separated them. The wall had returned a hundredfold, the captain’s inexperienced effort definitively rebuffed. He pulled back, wincing as his head throbbed and darkness swam across his vision. He was alone in his head except for the stubborn feeling that he shouldn’t be.

“Jim?”

He blinked up into Nyota’s dark eyes. She looked terrified, and he flinched as she emptied two hypos into his neck, one after another.

“Uhura,” he murmured. “Are you alright?” He couldn’t help a sigh as welcome pain relief followed the medicine.

“I’m fine,” she answered tightly. “The commissioner’s awake and nursing a hell of a headache.” She paused. “Ocampo’s dead.”

“No,” Jim muttered, his eyes drifting to the young man’s body.

“You’ve been out for about fifteen minutes; at least since I’ve regained consciousness,” Nyota continued. “The medical sensor showed a high pain response and other indicators that suggested that Spock wasn’t helping you anymore.”

Jim followed her glance. The Vulcan hadn’t moved, but his breathing had calmed and his eyes were shut, the blood wiped from his skin. Nyota blinked rapidly before composing herself. “He’s alive, but I don’t know what’s wrong with him.”

“Something…attacked him,” Jim said, able to think a little clearer with the pain subsiding. “Something came through that fan and latched onto our bond. I could feel it, but I don’t know what it was.” He gritted his teeth and sat up. “Lalitha, are you okay?”

The commissioner had crawled over to sit cross-legged next to them. “I’m alive,” she said. “I guess that counts for something.” She drew in a deep, shaking breath. “You were attacked, Jim? You and Spock?”

“Yeah,” Jim said, his eyes on his bondmate.

“I think we were, too,” Lalitha said. “Something…it felt like what had happened on the shuttle, but more…I don’t know, just _more_.”

“I could feel your fear,” Nyota addressed the other woman. “You were saying something in Hindi, in your mind. I could hear you.”

Lalitha was nodding. “I could feel you, too. Just for a moment, and then it stopped.”

“Could you tell what happened to Ocampo?” Jim asked.

Nyota shook her head. “I just heard him screaming. He doesn’t have a mark on him; at least nothing that the medical sensor could identify.” She frowned. “That was definitely a telepathic attack, Captain. It felt like something was trying to forcibly link my mind with Lalitha’s. Like on the shuttle, when we could all feel each other’s fear. Maybe it tried to do something like that to Ocampo, except there was no one else to share.”

“It seemed to really have a field day with our bond before Spock shoved it away somehow.” Jim exhaled, sliding forward so that he could reach his bondmate. “Spock?” he prompted, hesitating before reaching out and placing a gentle hand on the Vulcan’s shoulder. There was no response, and Jim moved his hand to Spock’s forehead, frowning at unnaturally cool skin. He held his palm there, concentrating, searching, and finally something sparked through before rapidly disappearing again behind that stark mental shield.

“Spock?”

Brown eyes focused and widened, and Spock slowly sat up, away from Jim’s hand. One hand came up to wipe haphazardly at his nose, and he studied the slight smear of green. “I am…I am sorry, Jim. The bond…is a source of vulnerability. I must keep it shielded, even from you.” His voice was slightly slurred, his hand shaking.

“What was that thing?”

“It did not succeed, but it will try again.”

“A being?” Nyota asked.

Spock leaned back against the rock wall, his head lolling to the side and his hands falling to his lap. “A race of telepathic beings once inhabited this planet. Thousands of years ago; highly developed technology. This planet…was almost a deity to them, a force that they sought to protect even…even in the face of their own demise, their population dwindling as they refused to…to take more resources. In the end, those who were left transferred their lifeforce into a genetically engineered hybrid of the dominant plant species. It…it remains to host the lifeforce of the people, and they exist as a natural part of the planet. However—,” he trailed off, sounding profoundly drained.

“They seem to be dissatisfied with their current situation,” Jim finished.

“It…they are able to exist in the resonance of the energies of our bond,” Spock said, wiping at his nose again. “Similar…similar to the communal resonances of their plant host, and drawing their power from the…the technology that still exists in vast complexes beneath us.” He drew in a breath. “The civilization was entirely underground, to preserve the natural habitat on the surface.”

“What do they want?” Lalitha asked. “Why did they bring us here?”

“They or it want to expand past this planet, but are too attuned to that…that resonance, existing in between and among. Too much time spent in a collective for a singular part to pull completely away into a separate mind. They tried…with Ocampo. They failed.”

“My gods,” Nyota murmured.

“They tried to initiate such a resonance between you and the commissioner,” Spock said. His eyes softened. “I am gratified that you are well, Nyota. And the commissioner.”

Nyota’s brown eyes were filled with tears. “But, this bond between you and Jim. It’s perfect for what they want, isn’t it?”

“It sure as hell felt like it,” Jim said.

“When did this happen, Jim?” Lalitha asked, her brows drawn together. “I didn’t know.”

Jim regarded her, remembering the flirtatious banter they had shared before the mine attack. It now seemed so long ago. “It happened right after the crash,” he said. “Spock saved my life.” He glanced at the Vulcan. “It was only possible because we already shared a link, though. I think that’s what was sensed before the shuttle was pulled into atmo. I think that’s why we’re here.”

Lalitha nodded mutely, her expression unreadable.

“If they’re telepathic, they must know who we are and, generally, where we’re from,” Nyota said. “No matter if they get what they want from us, it’s only a matter of time until they reach out again and grab another ship. I mean,” she shook her head, “this power, this technology pulled us lightyears at speeds in excess of warp eleven. Probed our minds and physical systems. Even the background interference here wreaks havoc with our sensors and equipment. If that power was unleashed on our own ships, on Starfleet and the Federation, it could be disastrous.”

“But why attack us now?” Jim asked. “Why all the passive observation and the waiting?”

Spock shifted against the wall. A single drop of emerald blood had slid from his nose. “I do not know. Perhaps a logical plan to assess potential threats or to optimize an aggressive action. There is a small possibility that the hostile actions we have encountered are not representative of the larger collective.”

Nyota raised her eyebrows. “Someone joined with the plants and now regrets it?”

Jim nodded. “Maybe. There are indications that their plan didn’t go the way they originally intended.” He pointed at the entrance to the cave. “I know we haven’t had a chance for long-range recon, but the forest out there looks to be the opposite of a diverse ecosystem. It appears that the genetically engineered hybrid overran their utopia. Maybe that’s gotten one of them upset.”

“Anger, or any other emotion may not be a motivating factor,” Spock said quietly. He wiped the back of his hand across his face, smearing the blood. “I sensed none in my interaction with the entity or entities. Only purpose, and power.”

“I don’t know,” Jim said darkly. “They or it seemed to be pretty interested in the emotion between us.”

He saw Nyota lower her eyes and he sighed. His surviving crew was hurt, injured, sitting filthy and bleeding and bruised on the cold rock floor of a cave, completely vulnerable to a potentially malevolent, powerful force. Another lay dead just meters away. And he was terribly aware that the stakes had risen far beyond their own lives.

“Okay,” he said. “Okay. We’re going to bury Yeoman Ocampo, and we’re going to try to re-scan the subsurface. Try to re-tune through the interference.”

“Captain.”

“What is it, Spock?”

“It is quite unlikely that your plan will work.”

“Do you have something better?”

The Vulcan paused, straightening slightly against the wall. “I could allow the entity or entities entry again. I was able to discern several pertinent facts during their previous attempt, through their continued connection to the collective. Perhaps, I could—.”

“No,” Jim snapped. Then, more gently, “No. We’re not there, yet. I don’t want you to do that.”

“Jim—.”

“No. I saw what that did to you. I _felt_ what that did to you.” He caught himself and struggled to regain his composure. “Spock, I—.”

The rock shuddered beneath them, and the still, chilled air was filled with the familiar hiss of advancing vines.

“It’s happening again!” Lalitha screamed. “No!”

“Here! Stay together!” Jim shouted hoarsely. “Nyota! Lali!” He reached out to yank at arms and fabric as the two women threw themselves back and they huddled together against the wall, trapped, the rock unyielding behind them, the vines twisting in, this time from the entrance, to loom in front of them.


	9. Through The Darkest Night

Chapter Nine: Through the Darkest Night

The sliding tumult halted just over a meter away, coiling and rising to hold a roughly cylindrical shape in front of them. Tendrils pulsed in waves of coordinate motion, wholly unlike the sharp dissonance and rapid vibrations that had accompanied the aggressive appearance of the smaller fan.

“Captain,” Uhura muttered, and he glanced down to see a phaser in her hand.

Jim shook his head immediately, recalling the reaction to Ocampo’s use of the weapon. “No. Belay that.” He had been bracing himself against another icy mental intrusion, but nothing threatened.

“What is it doing?” Lalitha breathed.

Jim didn’t answer her. “Spock, has anything tried—?”

“Negative.”

“Look!” Uhura had grabbed his wrist with her free hand. “Captain, look!”

Behind the cylindrical shape, additional vines had swept further into the cave and were slowly surrounding the yeoman’s body.

“No!” Jim acted on instinct, shoving himself to his feet. His head spun with the sudden movement and he staggered. “No, stop!” he yelled, recovering enough to advance on the cylinder. “He’s ours!”

A single vine separated from the larger mass, hovering in front of him, and he pulled up short to stare at it warily. It floated, hardly aggressive but not retreating either. The other vines had completely encased Ocampo’s body, lifting it in a slow wave of movement toward the cave’s entrance.

Jim gritted his teeth and side-stepped the intervening vine. His bad leg gave out and he fell to his knees with a grunt of pain. Spock was next to him in an instant, both arms around his bondmate, his own weakness apparent in the unsteady way he pulled Jim back to his feet. The Vulcan’s nose had begun to bleed again and he was breathing heavily. Jim leaned against him and skirted away from the extending vine, feeling Spock brace himself.

The cylinder itself seemed to rotate in place, the tendrils’ hissing unchanged, and then the entire mass began to recede and pull away through the cave entrance, trailing Ocampo’s body out into the clearing. The single vine appeared almost as a lure, undulating as it followed behind.

“Uhura, Lali,” Jim barked, gesturing for them to follow.

The two women exchanged a glance before standing and carefully edging along the wall. Nyota wore an expression of deep disapproval, the phaser held low and slightly behind her body.

Dusk had fallen across the small clearing in front of the cave and, as he emerged, Jim could clearly make out the body of his yeoman being lowered into the ground where the larger fans used to be. Prehensile vines had moved dirt and rock, unwinding and finally lifting away as they covered the shallow grave and recoiled to join the larger mass, leaving disturbed and slightly mounded earth behind.

“You had buried Barnes,” Jim murmured to his bondmate.

“Indeed. Fascinating.”

“You had buried Barnes, and now it…they’re burying Ocampo.” Jim turned to regard the cylindrical mass. “It appears…the shape of it almost seems as if it’s trying to approximate our own form. Spock, what were you saying about the aggressive actions possibly not being aligned with the larger collective?”

“Speculation, Captain. Based on my hypothesis that if the entire collective power were focused against us, there could be no defense.”

“Maybe we’re not on our own after all,” Jim mused. He could feel his body trembling, hunching his shoulders against a growing chill.

“A gesture?” Nyota said.

“And what comes next?” Lalitha frowned, absently touching the fresh wound across her forehead. “Another gesture, by us? A demonstration of trust? That’s how it would play out in the diplomatic corps, but we’re dealing with a completely new lifeform. An unknown situation.”

Jim nodded, feeling tentative hope swell for the first time since they crashed here. “Maybe.” He shifted his weight. “Spock, help me over there.”

“Why?” Nyota asked immediately. “What are you going to do?”

“I have an idea,” Jim said. “Probably none too bright, but we have to try something.” He glanced at his first officer, still disconcerted by the complete absence of any sense of him beyond the physical warmth of his body and the fact of the relentless mental shield.

The cylindrical form did not retreat as they approached, and Jim slowly pulled away from Spock’s supporting arm, limping just ahead of him to stand directly in front of the mass of vines. “I am Captain James Kirk of the United Federation of Planets. We are on a peaceful mission. We wish to communicate.”

No answer, no indication, and Jim licked his lips, taking a deep breath before reaching out, slow and deliberate. His hand brushed the weaving tendrils and then he touched one of the vines themselves, the feeling of it warm and textured, like flesh. For a moment there was no reaction, and then several smaller vines separated from the cylinder, snaking over his wrist and arm to cross over his chest and shoulders, into his collar and against his neck, up over his temple.

“Jim.” Spock’s voice came harshly, barely audible.

“Wait,” Jim insisted, his heart racing. “That’s an order.”

There was something at the edges of his consciousness: the whispering of a distant crowd, the wash of surf at the beach, the chatter of dry leaves. He could feel it as a mild electrical sensation over his skin, the fine hairs at the back of his neck going up. He fought back a surge of fear, focusing determinedly on the idea of communication. There was power here, as deep and intractable as anything they had sensed on the doomed shuttle, but it was held back, restrained. Completely opposite from the violent aggression they had experienced before.

Jim closed his eyes to concentrate on the unfamiliar sensations, feeling the small vines prod at the bandages covering his wounds. The whispered pattern of the tendrils had changed. _Curiosity?_ There was a sudden sharp jab at the edge of the bandages and he gasped, wincing. The small interlopers immediately swept away, retreating back into the larger body, one of them stained bright red. Jim stepped back, almost falling into his first officer.

“Jim.” Spock’s voice was full, and his hands shook where he gripped his bondmate.

Jim shook his head. “I’m alright. It’s okay.”

In front of them, the cylinder abruptly began to unravel, vines disappearing into the darkening forest, and they were left alone in the clearing.

“I heard something of it, of them,” Jim said, staring out at the remaining trees. “It sounded like a vast multitude of whispers, of voices. It was an examination of some sort.” He nudged himself forward to kneel next to Ocampo’s grave, placing his right hand on the loose soil.

“Captain, was anything communicated to you?” Nyota asked.

“Not that I could tell,” Jim answered. He faltered and sat back heavily, his hand leaving a print in the dirt.

“Jim!” Lalitha exclaimed. “Look at that!” She pointed to a tunnel of glinting blue luminescence that had slowly formed in the wake of the retreating vines, leading into the forest.

“A path,” Jim said quietly.

“A path, sir?” Nyota asked sharply. “You mean a trap.”

“They don’t need a trap,” Jim replied, looking up at her. “We’re already trapped. I felt something when those vines touched me. I can’t explain it, but it wasn’t an attack. Not even close.”

“So, we’re going to follow the alien telepathic vines into the dark forest?” Lalitha asked tensely. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Lali, I agree with the sentiment, but I don’t see that we have much of a choice,” Jim said. “We were waiting for some kind of communication, and if we stay here, it seems like we’re asking for that attack to come again.”

“I believe that our location is irrelevant to that point, and while maintaining this level of shielding is difficult, it has appeared to discourage another forced attempt on our bond,” Spock commented flatly. “I would also remind the captain of his condition.”

“I can make it.”

“You are exhibiting symptoms that may indicate a return of the systemic reaction, sir.”

“Would you like to leave me behind?” Jim’s harsh tone rang out against the whispering background.

Nyota let out a sigh. “I’m going to get the medpack and the provisions before it gets too dark to see anything.”

“I’ll go with you,” Lalitha said quickly, striding behind the smaller woman back into the cave.

Jim took a deep breath, aware of the chill that he couldn’t seem to shake, the lightheadedness that kept getting stronger. He earnestly looked up at the shadowed figure of his bondmate, recognizing that they each were struggling. “We’re running out of options, Spock. Hell, we’ve already run out of options. We’re backed into a corner and time’s running out.”

“Granted. However, I must concur with Lieutenant Uhura and Commissioner Basu,” Spock said quietly. “This may be a trap.”

“I know,” Jim said. “I know that.” He exhaled. “But I think we need to go anyway.”

Spock slowly sat down next to him in the growing darkness and Jim gazed at the blue pathway stretching away into the unknown.

“I don’t like not being able to feel you,” Jim murmured. “I know it’s necessary, but—.” He trailed off as his bondmate reached out, index and middle fingers paired, brushing gently and briefly across the back of Jim’s hand.

“And that’s another thing,” the captain said. “Here we are. Lost, and we finally find each other.” He blinked and shook his head. “No, that’s not right. We just found another part of each other.”

“It is true that we have found each other in at least one other universe,” Spock replied.

“More than one,” Jim murmured, remembering glimpses from that intense meld in a faraway ice cave. “I wish I could take your pain the way you took mine. I wish I could help you heal.”

“The pain of my planet’s fall has been a constant in my life. I have placed it behind shielding and discipline, but I have not sought healing in either the Vulcan or human way.”

“I’m more than familiar with the human methods of managing grief.” Jim rubbed a hand over his mouth. “What’s the Vulcan way?”

“To seek to mitigate the pain of broken links by initiating new ones. To bond with a compatible mind as quickly as possible, and to recover a sense of _k’war’ma’khon_ by living on New Vulcan.”

“But you didn’t. You didn’t deliberately bond, and you didn’t quit the Fleet.” Jim took a breath, held it. “You had our connection.”

“Yes.”

“Which you didn’t tell me about.” Jim tilted his head, furrowing his brow. “Lalitha was there, when I was in the hospital recovering.”

“Her presence placed into stark contrast what you needed and what I offered. However, the decision then to withhold information about the link was not so simple as that. My own relationship with Nyota had changed, abruptly. The emotional consequences of everything that had happened were difficult to resolve.”

“I can imagine,” Jim said thoughtfully. “But, why didn’t you say something later? Or at any time during the past two years?”

“You yourself have sensed the degree to which my mind has been affected, behind my shielding. Were you to have invited the bond, it may have compromised the efficiency of our ship and our mission. It may have compromised, severely, your own ability to command.”

“Spock—.”

“Our minds are now joined irrevocably. Until death. It is...marriage on the most intimate level: your thoughts, your very being, and mine.”

Jim blinked rapidly. “It’s—.”

“I could not tell you, and yet I could not leave your side as I should have done, to protect you. And this was finally forced on us because I could not accept your death had I any power to stop it.”

“It kept me alive,” Jim said sharply, finding his voice, “this link of ours. Twice, I might add, because if you hadn’t taken off after Khan in a blind, emotionally compromised rage, I wouldn’t be here either.”

Spock was looking away, his profile outlined in the rising moonlight.

Jim leaned toward the Vulcan. “What I’m saying is that I’m content to be here, living and breathing and discussing this impossible situation with you. I’m content to have this connection with you, and even if there’s pain when I push too hard, it’s probably pain that I can help with, eventually, as your bondmate.” He heard Nyota’s and Lalitha’s voices, and saw focused spots of flashlights at the mouth of the cave. “Your bondmate,” he repeated forcefully. Jim leaned even closer. “And not once have you mentioned the obvious problems with having to deal with a stubborn, illogical, and frequently frustrated and snappish human.”

“I have become accustomed to such behavior among humans,” Spock murmured, and Jim chuckled, reaching out to place a hand on his bondmate’s shoulder.

“We’ve got the gear,” Nyota said, emerging from the gloom. “Are you sure you want to do this, Captain? I agree that you’re hardly in any condition to be walking very far.”

“I’ll make it,” Jim answered, putting all the certainty and bravado he didn’t feel into his voice. He gripped Spock’s shoulder more tightly, letting the Vulcan help him to his feet. Another wave of dizziness assailed him but he kept his chin up. “Ready to go?”

Lalitha snorted delicately. “Not in the slightest.”

Nyota let out a breath of nervous laughter. “That goes for me, too.”

Jim nodded, looking at each of them in turn by the soft glow of the flashlights. “I understand. Keep close together and call out anything new.” He paused, glancing once more at the forlorn grave of the young yeoman. Two crewmembers lost. He had no intention of offering another. “Alright,” he said finally. “Let’s go.”

The forest floor was difficult to navigate as they wove carefully in and among the vegetation, coiled vines looping in and out of the ground at their feet and through the larger trees. Blue light emanating from just beneath the surfaces of the vines flickered in patch-like patterns as the ubiquitous tendrils whispered, revealing fleeting glimpses of the deeper forest.

Jim pressed ahead as quickly as he could, his palms clammy and his breathing shallow. The feeling of chill had seeped into his body, and he couldn’t help leaning even more into the warmth of his bondmate’s body. Usually unyielding Vulcan strength seemed diminished, and drying blood smeared under Spock’s nose where he had haphazardly tried to wipe it away. The silent bond was an aching void between them, and Jim kept having to blink to focus his swimming vision, counting time with the growing throb of pain through his injuries.

“Captain,” Spock said suddenly, pulling up short. “Observe.”

Just inside the arc of light, the sweep and silvery flash of another fan-like structure glimmered, becoming visible for an instant before the lights flickered.

“Shit,” Nyota muttered, her hand on her phaser.

“We’re being watched,” Jim said. “Not…unexpected. We have to keep…keep going.”

“We still don’t know where we’re going!” Lalitha said, nervously glancing to each side.

“We keep going,” the captain ordered sharply, but it was no surprise when his left leg finally gave out completely and he slipped from Spock’s arms, falling to his knees with a cry of pain.

“Fuck,” he hissed through clenched teeth.

“Jim.” Spock was kneeling next to him. “Jim, you must be calm.”

Nyota swung the medpack from her shoulder. “Captain, do you need another hypo? It’ll have to be a partial dose, but—.”

“No!” Seeing her expression, he stopped, fighting back surging feelings of hopelessness, frustration, and impotence. “No, not yet.”

He saw Nyota and Spock share a look over his head, and the Vulcan simply lifted Jim bodily into his arms.

“Fuck,” Jim muttered again, his head lolling against Spock’s shoulder. “This is just great.”

Nyota rose next to them, following closely behind as they set off again. “Maybe we should just leave you behind?” she asked playfully, reaching out to squeeze his hand.

“You wouldn’t dare,” he said, forcing a smile before letting his head fall back, watching blue light play gently over his bondmate’s features and, beyond, to the darkness of the overarching trees. With a deep wave of sadness, he wished desperately to see the stars. His body ached. His soul ached. He realized with a burst of clarity that he was becoming delirious.

“Spock,” he murmured, and then he grasped that he was already on the ground and Nyota was pressing a hypo into his neck. And then another.

One of the Vulcan’s hands was on his shoulder, the other was in his hair.

“Jim. Jim!” The captain focused on Nyota, who was almost yelling at him. “You’re having a recurrence of that inflammatory reaction again. Your vitals are dropping, fast.”

“Are we there yet?”

“No,” she said. “You lost consciousness. Jim, we needed to stop. We have to deal with this.”

Jim stared blearily at her, at the hypo she still held in her hand. And then he felt Spock’s hand again, gently stroking his hair. “No,” Jim murmured. “Don’t you do it.”

“Jim, I must. Your life—.”

“Won’t…mean anything if that attack happens again. We’ll both be…be… .” He was struggling to breathe and swallowed saliva that tasted oddly of blood. “Just let me go, Spock. It’ll stop that thing anyway, if our bond is—.”

The Vulcan stroked his hair again, and then adjusted his hand to gently press his fingers to his bondmate’s face, reciting quietly, “For if night had not day, shrouded and lost be places unseen.”

Jim felt something wet on his cheek, somehow focusing enough to finish the poem's verse, “If…day had not night, too brightly…brightly burn, and nothing to…to dream.”

Spock closed his eyes and their minds leapt together, the bond blazing open again as shields disintegrated in the brightness of their meld.


	10. And Into The Deepest Places

Chapter Ten: And Into the Deepest Places

_Raw energy coursing through nerves, burning through veins, fueled by the desperate awareness of an absence of time. Directed impulses and forcing of tissue; metabolism firing, and the pain of it was almost worse than the pain of before. He couldn’t let go. He wouldn’t let go. He wouldn’t let go even though he knew he had to. There was danger: icy danger approaching and there was no time and he had to let go. He had to let go, now!_

Another attack burst against their unshielded minds to shatter and crack in the space that held the warmth of their bond. Jim fell again into full consciousness, grabbing at his head. Blue lights flickered erratically all around him, vines twisting, moving, the hissing of the tendrils reaching a vigorous, dissonant pitch. A phaser blast flared overhead, and then another, and Jim twisted to see Nyota firing at two small fans rearing up behind him, flashing an eerie, frantic silver.

Spock was gasping for air, on his knees, bent over far enough that his forehead touched the wet ground, his fingers digging into the mud.

“Commissioner!” Nyota yelled. A wave of small vines had moved rapidly to wrap themselves around her arms and waist, and she struggled, managing to toss the phaser at Lalitha.

Lalitha had to throw herself forward to grab for the weapon, her hand wrapping around it as more vines snaked in to capture her legs. She whirled with a scream, kicking them away as she scrabbled closer to Spock and Jim.

“Shoot the fans!” cried Nyota hoarsely. “Shoot—!”

Pain doubled and redoubled and Jim heard himself cry out, closing his eyes. The entity was stronger this time, or perhaps just more determined, writhing into the space between his mind and his bondmate’s. Jim could feel Spock fighting somewhere far away, somewhere past hastily raised and fluctuating shielding.

The phaser whined twice more and then went silent, Lalitha’s voice rising again, and Nyota’s, but Jim shut them out, shutting out the pain of the mental violation, the squelch of the muddy ground against his wounded body, the ominous hissing that filled his ears. He shoved all that away to seek that feeling of deep synergy that had existed only moments before, following along the chilled and straining bond to push through to the other side.

 _We’re stronger together_ , he insisted, he pleaded. It was all he could do. _Let me help. Let me try_. He could hear Spock’s mental shout of warning; he could taste the entity’s cold, concentrated presence streaming to meet him, to this place where they all now touched. Jim could see it as gray and shifting pressure against his mind. He could sense its recognition of a path forward presented in the strangest form, fraught with befuddling resistance. Visceral power loomed over him, curled around him, and he pushed back against it with all the bright, hot anger and strength that his weakened body could no longer deliver.

The entity recoiled, and Jim could sense something within it waver, compelled yet rebuffed at the same time. It approached again, and he couldn’t help bending under the intensity.

 _No!_ This time, it was not iron discipline that struck a devastating volley against the entity’s unsuspecting mental flank, but a primal scream of unleashed Vulcan emotion. Fear and rage, desperation and love ignited, burning the icy intrusion to ash. Jim was suddenly pushed back into his own mind, his eyes opening to near-complete darkness.

The light had extinguished over and around him and the forceful hissing had quieted into near-silence. The vines no longer moved and the bond was dark, too, closed off again by implacable shielding.

“Jim?” Lalitha was at his side. “Can you hear me?”

He managed a croaked, “Yes.”

Close by, he heard a choked sob, and then the sound of Nyota’s voice lowered to a gentle, soothing murmur. “Jim’s awake. Spock, he’s awake. He’s alright.”

“Spock,” he gasped, turning over and crawling toward the sound. He stopped just before he reached the Vulcan, remembering at the last minute that they shouldn’t touch now, when everything was so vulnerable and raw. The blank space between them was excruciating, and Jim curled up on his right side, his arms wrapped around his stomach. His body hurt.

“Spock, say something. Please.”

“Jim.” The Vulcan’s voice was nearly unrecognizable in its emotional potency. “What you did. It worked.”

“What I did?” Jim coughed. “I interfered. I distracted you.”

“You distracted the entity. And you showed me a weapon that it did not have a defense for.”

“Feeling.” Jim watched as, one by one, the luminescence around them began to flicker back into being.

“Yes, strong emotion. I would not…not have been able to push it away this time…had you not done what you did.”

“This time.” Jim slowly pushed himself up, his clothes and skin covered in mud. He felt profoundly weary. “It’s going to try again.”

“The next time, it…it may succeed.” Spock looked as exhausted as Jim had ever seen him, and the captain did not need the translucency of their bond to see all the naked emotion that had been forced to the surface now twisting the Vulcan’s features, fresh blood smeared across his face.

“How long were we in the meld?”

“Not long, Captain,” Nyota answered. She had a supporting arm around Spock, who was sitting up, leaning heavily against her. “Your readings stabilized enough to give you a fighting chance, but there’s no guarantee that the stress and your weakened systems won’t cause your body to react like that again.” She sighed. “That attacking… _thing_ is getting more aggressive. I know it was against orders, but when I saw what was happening, I decided there wasn’t anything to lose by using the phaser.”

“Did it hurt you or Lali?” Jim asked.

“Not telepathically,” Lalitha said, crouching next to him. “Those vines threw us around a bit, though.” Jim saw a shadow of a hard smile on her face. “It felt good to shoot something.”

“Shoot _at_ something,” Nyota corrected. “The shots we got off didn’t seem to do much.”

Jim wiped a shaking hand across his forehead and tried to gather himself. “We’ve got to keep going. If there’s a chance that we can communicate again and figure out what’s happening; figure out how to make these attacks stop. Just…just give me a minute.”

“We don’t have to go far, Captain,” Nyota said. The captain’s eyes were focused on his bondmate. The bluish lights cast a ghastly pallor over the Vulcan’s pale and bruised skin and Jim winced.

“Jim?” she asked again. “Did you hear me?”

He looked at her, replaying what she had just said. “No, wait, yes. Yes, I heard you. Not far to go?”

“Maybe. The commissioner and I took turns scouting a bit while Spock was taking care of you. There’s something up ahead about twenty meters or so, inset into the ground and recently cleared. It’s definitely not natural.”

“’Natural’ has variable definitions in this place,” Spock said softly.

“We thought it was a doorway,” Lalitha offered. “Possibly.” She lowered her eyes. “I have to confess that I didn’t stay too long to examine it, and the higher interference levels are still making the tricorder next to useless.”

“Okay.” Jim gritted his teeth and reached out, letting Lalitha take his arm and help him to his feet. He was still weak, his limbs trembling and she grunted at his weight as he leaned against her. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I—.”

“It’s fine,” Lalitha said. “I’ll get in a workout.” Her dry humor forced a brief smile to Jim’s face, which promptly fell away as he watched Spock struggle to his own feet, his posture bent and his head bowed. The bond was a taut, disconcerting darkness tinged by the distasteful residue from the entity’s passage.

Nyota stood next to the Vulcan, one arm around his waist, her expression hard and angry. “I’m really fucking tired of this place,” she muttered.

Jim let out a concurring sniff. “On to the next place, then?”

“Yeah,” she said, sighing deeply. “On to the next fucking place.”

He hesitated, having lost his bearings. “Which way?”

She pointed, her eyes shifting between Spock and the vegetation around them, and Jim limped in that direction, still leaning heavily on the commissioner. “Twenty meters,” he dumbly muttered to himself. “Twenty meters.”

“You’re doing fine, Jim,” Lalitha said gently. “It’s just up here.”

He managed to put one foot in front of the other, already recognizing the slow retreat of the last painkiller Nyota had given him and wondering how much time he had left before he would be nearly completely immobilized. When the end of their eerie path came as an incongruous circular platform emerging from the gloom, he shuffled forward readily.

“That’s it,” Lalitha confirmed. “That’s got to be what we’re meant to find, right?”

“Looks like it.” Jim stopped short in front of it, warily watching the vines arching around and over their small group, the blue lights still gently flickering, the tendrils still producing the softer, steady hiss.

Spock had the tricorder out, gripping it in both hands. “The interference is, expectedly, quite strong here. Readings are still completely blanked.” He paused, tilting the screen so Nyota could see it. “Fascinating.”

“What?” Jim asked impatiently.

“Processing of earlier continuous scanning of fluctuations in the intensity of the interference has led to an origination profile for the source.”

“Of the interference?” Jim took a hopping step toward the Vulcan and faltered, leaning into Lalitha again.

“It’s rough,” Nyota said, shaking her head, “and obviously doesn’t include any of the latest encounters we’ve had, but it’s most likely a broadly diffuse source located below us.”

Jim regarded the platform again. “I think we should stay together on this one,” he said slowly.

“What are you—?” Lalitha stopped. “You think—?”

“Why not? You said it looked like a doorway of some kind. And we were invited.” He managed a shrug in the general direction of the vines. “Sort of.” He took in Nyota’s hesitancy. “Uhura, we’ve got to get somewhere fast. We’re running on fumes. You said it yourself that the reaction will probably return, and Spock can’t…the attack can’t happen again.”

Nyota nodded slowly, exchanging a glance with Spock. “Alright,” she said.

Lalitha let out a heavy sigh. “Alright. Alright, Jim.” She tightened her grip around him and stepped forward, helping him up onto the platform as the others followed. She licked her lips nervously. “This is some situation.”

“The captain does have a unique ability to court danger,” Spock commented.

“Back at you, Commander,” Jim said. A breeze had picked up around them, and a fierce burst of lightning immediately preceded the deafening crash of thunder.

“Shit!” Jim hunched his shoulders as another downpour began, drenching them in seconds.

“Should we find cover?” called Nyota as lightning flashed again.

“Negative,” Jim yelled back. He ducked reflexively as thunder rolled over them again, and let out a surprised yelp as the platform beneath their feet shuddered and began to slowly rotate. Lalitha clung to him, and Jim reached out to grab Nyota’s hand as she, in turn, tightened her grip on Spock. A loud squeal cut the air and the platform began to descend, slowly at first and then gathering speed.

“Get closer together!” Jim yelled, coughing over the dryness in his throat as chilled, stale air swept past them. The surface was flying away from them, the small, flickering lights disappearing into pinpricks, into stars, and then they were sealed in, completely blind, the opening above gone. The platform was still steadily spinning, still falling, and Jim counted the seconds as a way to push against the instinctive panic that welled within him. _Nineteen…twenty…twenty-one…twenty-two…_ .

Unexpected light burst beneath them as their descent slowed, and they passed into a vast cylindrical space. The walls, the floor were luminous, and the ceiling, too, as the platform passed completely through and another portal slid smoothly shut above them, filling their ears with weighty silence. The contrast with the storm-tossed forest and streaming rain and hissing vines was abrupt and shocking, and Jim blinked at the others in the bright light as the platform finally, gently, settled onto the floor. They were bedraggled, filthy, and soaking wet, shivering in the chilled air as they slowly unwound from each other.

“I estimate that we are over one-hundred meters below the surface,” Spock said, looking up at the high ceiling before peering at his tricorder. “No power,” he said, turning the blank display so Jim could see, the device shaking. The Vulcan looked awful: overly prominent cheekbones and bruises, dried blood caked beneath his nose and ears, darkened greenish circles under bloodshot eyes.

Nyota reached immediately to her waist, checking the phaser. “It’s dead, too,” she said. Her face, too, had hollowed, dirt smeared over her own wounds, mud matting her hair. Anger had faded from her eyes and, for the first time since Jim had met her, she seemed overwhelmed. She lowered the phaser and looked sadly at Spock, reaching out to place a protective hand on his arm.

Jim could only watch them. He was so tired. Lalitha was sitting with her long legs stretched out in front of her, dark hair loosened and dripping water on the platform. She appeared lost, and bravado had given way to resignation. He cleared his throat, coughing again. “The air’s…the air’s recirculated,” he managed groggily. He wondered if the reaction was setting in again, so soon, or if his body and mind were simply too far gone. Slowly, he turned his head, taking in these new surroundings.

The walls could have been works of art. Long, sinuous patterns of white and dark, intertwined with luminescent blue-green strands that seemed to pulse in time with some alien heartbeat. Familiar fractal bursts, gleaming silver, bloomed, scattered, and then disappeared across the expansive surfaces, responding to mysterious and unknown forces.

“It could be writing,” Nyota mulled. “I think I can see patterns.”

“It’s beautiful,” Jim said, his gaze settling on his first officer. “Possibly the source of the interference?”

“I do not know.” Spock was looking at him, gazing at him, his expression laden but unreadable, and Jim felt a fresh chill go down his spine. Something in that deep, open look held the inescapable gravity of some hidden, dreaded realization. The captain involuntarily pushed against hardened mental shields and grunted, pressing his fingers to his temples as his head pounded in reaction. His body was beginning to ache fiercely as adrenaline and medication ebbed.

“Nyota,” he said. “Could you check the medpack for stimulants? I can’t…I can’t even stand up anymore.”

She furrowed her brow, swinging the pack across her body. “You must be in bad shape, Jim,” she said. “You never call me that. Do you need another painkiller, too?”

“If you’ve got one, yeah,” Jim managed.

“I’ve got a third of one,” she said. “It’s the last of it.”

“Shit.”

“You can, you know,” she said, pressing the hypo against his neck, “call me Nyota.”

Jim sighed. “I know.” He leaned his head back and watched Spock gingerly stand up next to her.

“So, why don’t you?” Nyota continued.

“So you’ll know when I really need you,” Jim answered, offering her a lopsided smile.

Nyota replaced the hypo cartridge. “I’ve got the standard stimulant. It’ll keep you up for a couple hours, maybe, but you’ll crash pretty hard after.” She leaned in, and then hesitated. “Jim, putting an additional burden on your body now might not—.”

“Do it,” he insisted. “No choice.”

He could feel the artificial surge of energy as the hypo released: weak, thinly chemical, and bringing with it a burst of nerves. It was enough, however, to clear his mind and to make standing up seem like a remotely possible thing.

“There!” Lalitha cried, her voice cracking, pointing at the nearest curved wall, which had started to _writhe_.

Jim pushed himself to his feet, swaying and almost falling before Spock’s arms wrapped around him. Nyota was next to them, the useless phaser in her hand anyway. White and black elongations on a large section of the wall were gliding snake-like past each other, silver bursts flashing faster than before. The entire section blurred and bowed backwards, revealing a large familiar object.

“The shuttle!” Nyota gasped.

Their shuttle rested serenely and astonishingly on the luminous floor, neatly tucked into the newly-formed curving indentation in the wall. It appeared to be completely intact, though scorch marks and stains still covered its hull. As they watched, gyros whirred and the port hatch folded open.

“Is it an illusion?” Jim wondered out loud. He eased forward, approaching their lost ship, Spock next to him, and, despite the probable strain of their closeness on Spock’s ability to shield, Jim couldn’t bring himself to order the Vulcan away.

The captain could smell the musty residue of wetness on the craft’s surface, sparking memories of the crash that sent a wave of revulsion through him, turning his stomach. Nyota circled around the starboard side as Jim reached cautiously toward the hull. It was chilled, but as real as his own touch could determine. He peered into the craft, illuminated by low emergency lighting.

“There seems to be power here,” he said. “Interesting.” He hesitated at the entrance and then nodded to Spock as the Vulcan helped him up and into the craft. All panels were dark except for a small, blinking light indicating reserve energy use. The interior had been largely repaired, but, as on the hull, surficial discolorations remained. Jim stared at the pilot’s seat, at the unmistakable patches of his own blood staining the floor, seat, and console, at the burns across the port bulkhead.

“The damaged sections seem to just be _put back_ ,” Nyota said, entering the craft behind them. “There’s no additional material, no signs of welding or patching.”

“There is intermittent power from the reserve batteries only,” Spock said, bending over the main console. “Not enough to power the engines, communications, or even the main control panels. I will…we will have to perform a manual inspection of the…of the engines.” He frowned, sitting down heavily in the co-pilot’s seat.

“The seat cushions are still wet.” Nyota was making her way back through the craft. “The storage closets are sealed, though.” She pressed the keypad and a small panel slid away. “These seem to have power to them.” She pulled out a dry uniform tunic. “Fucking untouched.”

“So we have our ship back, but not enough power to use it.” Jim shifted uncomfortably as he leaned on the back of the pilot’s chair. “We could try—.”

“No.” Lalitha was standing just inside the hatch. “We need to change our clothes. Eat. Get warm. And you need to change your bandages and rest. Spock needs to rest.”

“I don’t think—,” Jim began.

“No, Captain,” the commissioner interrupted firmly. “We’ve been given an opportunity here, as fleeting and insignificant as it may be, and we’re damn well going to take it.” She paused. “I have some mission authority, as you well know. I think I’m going to exercise it now.” She narrowed her eyes. “That’s an order.”

Nyota grinned openly at Lalitha before arching her eyebrows at Jim. “Captain?”

Jim looked from his communications officer to his bondmate, sitting slumped in his chair. Spock was watching him again, and with that same intensity, as if he didn’t want to take his eyes from Jim for any longer than he absolutely had to.

“Alright, Lali,” the captain agreed finally. “Alright.”

The water cycler was apparently among the odd list of things that seemed to be working onboard the shuttle and Jim admitted it felt good to escape the stiff, filthy wetness of the old bandages and fatigues, to wash away some of the dirt and blood, to use a proper toilet again and brush his teeth. The painkillers were still working, but the stimulant was wearing off, and the fatigue was wearing on him as he finally stretched awkwardly on the steps in front of the port hatch, taking his turn on watch. Nausea and a constant chill warned him that the deadly over-reaction of his body’s systems, twice fought off by Vulcan discipline, was slowly gaining grim ground again.

The walls of the room were hypnotic, the sinuosity of the dark and light coming from painstaking, steady motion. They were constantly moving, the silver constantly bursting. _Fireworks_ , his tired mind supplied. _Like fireworks_.

Jim heard a soft step and looked up as Lalitha clambered down to stand next to him. She was wearing one of her own outfits and had tied her long, damp hair back in a braid. She smiled at him and handed him a bottle of water. “How are you?”

“Better,” he said, taking a sip. “You were right, of course.”

“Of course,” she said. “Uhura’s trying to take a quick nap and Spock’s meditating.”

“Good.”

“You should probably try to sleep, too,” she added. “I can take watch again.”

“No,” he said simply. “I’m tired, but I don’t think I can sleep. I don’t want to sleep.”

“You’re not well.”

He shrugged stubbornly.

“Well, we’ve gotten this far.” She sighed, folding her arms and looking around at the vast room. “You’re a strong person, Jim, a brilliant leader. I know it’s hard to accept powerlessness, or just simply waiting.”

Jim sniffed. “We’ve gotten this far because my bondmate refuses to accept my death.”

“And you’re worried about what’s coming next.”

“This systemic reaction isn’t stopping; it isn’t being cured. No matter what occurs with all this,” Jim waved his hand at the walls, “I’m worried that he won’t let me go. That he’ll do what he did up on that path and expose himself to that entity again. I can’t let that happen.”

“Jim, I don’t think you can stop him,” Lalitha said simply.

“He’ll die fighting it. And I’ll die anyway.”

She tilted her head at him. “This bond came about because of the singular emotion that causes one to offer their life for another. He loves you.”

“I know.”

“And you love him.”

“I do,” Jim said firmly. “I do. But it’s all so much… .” _More_. He trailed off, leaving the last word unvoiced, not wanting to explain anything else to her.

Lalitha was already talking, as if she hadn’t even noticed his pause. “It’s all too much. This crash, this whole damn experience.” She frowned. “You remember that I was married before? That I’d been divorced just a couple of weeks when Marcus’ dreadnought came down in San Francisco?”

Jim shook his head, his lips a thin line.

The commissioner shifted. “I was suffering, Jim, in a very selfish and specific way. And you were there, in all your blue-eyed, conquered-death, saved-the-world glory, and you were sarcastic and funny as all hell. And I have a confession, Jim. I saw how Spock looked at you. I saw how he hovered around you only to disappear when I showed up. I teased you about it mercilessly, remember?” She blinked rapidly. “If I were a better person, I would have just stepped away for good.”

Jim winced. “That’s not on you, Lali.”

“Isn’t it?” she pressed. “You and I flirted and fooled around, neither of us in it for anything more serious than a way to escape a complicated reality for a time. I made it harder for him to approach you, and easier for you to avoid any confrontation. I blithely played my part and then and you and Spock had to come together like this and it’s been nothing but hurt for either of you.”

“It’s not your fault,” Jim repeated, looking up at her. “I mean it.”

She shrugged. “Uhura wouldn’t look at me without throwing daggers with her eyes. That counts for something.”

Jim forced a smile, shifting his weight against the unforgiving plastisteel stairs. “Uhura has a very strong sense of loyalty.”

“You need to lie down,” Lalitha insisted. “Let me sit here and stare at the walls. Please.”

“Lali, I—.” He broke off. “It’s happening again. Get the others. Now.”

She followed his look to the near curve of the wall, where the vine-like elongate shapes were moving rapidly again, twisting and sliding past each other the way they had before the shuttle had appeared.

“Lali, go!”

She scrambled into the shuttle as he rose haltingly to his feet, the useless phaser in his hand. Something was emerging through the blurred writhing of the shapes, through the flashing, scattering sparks of silver. Jim took a tentative step forward, peering as the wall bowed again and retreated, revealing a familiar form.

The shock sent the captain stumbling backwards, bumping into Nyota as she leapt down from the shuttle. She grabbed his arm, her mouth falling open.

“Ocampo!”


	11. The Bargain

Chapter Eleven: The Bargain

“Ocampo!” Nyota exclaimed.

Jim flung out his arm as Spock appeared in the entryway, Lalitha next to him.

“Wait,” the captain ordered, staring at the young yeoman’s body. “Wait.”

“He was dead,” Nyota insisted rapidly. “I scanned him myself with the medical sensor. There was no pulse, no respiration. We saw those vines surround him and bury him.”

“We saw them pull him underground,” Jim corrected. “We thought it was to bury him, but maybe it was something completely different.” He had a bad feeling starting in his gut.

“Captain James Kirk.” Ocampo’s voice was the same, but he didn’t move from where he stood in the new indentation, scattering silver sparks bursting almost constantly behind him. His fatigues, skin, and hair were wet to the point of dripping. “Captain James Kirk, we are familiar with your form.”

Jim swallowed heavily, moving forward to stand in front of the others. The cadence of the younger man’s voice was wrong, the tone flat and sibilant and lacking any nuance of feeling, his face disconcertingly blank. “Who are you?” the captain asked carefully.

“You are familiar with this form as Yeoman Arturo Anders Ocampo. That is no longer sufficient. We are _Alehiliri_. We are of this world. We are this world.”

Jim moved forward, sensing Spock follow behind him. His leg was aching, his muscles protesting, but he kept approaching. “Where is Arturo Ocampo?”

“He was too weak to continue after the attempt on his form. We absorbed his being to enable communication. He is us; we are him.”

“He can hear us?”

“He is us; we are him.”

Jim glanced over as Spock came to stand next to him. “And you know what he knows? Where we’re from? What happened to bring us here?”

“We know.” Ocampo’s head slowly tilted in an oddly inhuman way, unblinking eyes shifting to Spock and then back to Jim. “We use this form to communicate with you. It has no other purpose.”

“Did you bring us here? To this planet?”

“We are the power.” Ocampo’s head lolled slightly and then lifted. “The attempts that have reached out to you were _direngui_. It is the part of us that seeks to separate.”

Jim licked his lips, stepping closer still. “The attempts…the attacks? _Direngui_. Is that the part that’s been attacking us?”

“Yes.” As Jim studied the yeoman’s body, he saw a multitude of small vines twisting out from the wall behind him, disappearing beneath the young man’s fatigues: along his wrists, ankles, collar, and beneath the hem of the shirt. Swallowing hard, Jim took a step back, meeting Spock’s eyes.

The Vulcan nodded. “Why does the _direngui_ attack?”

“The _direngui_ is the part of us that seeks to separate. It cannot separate without a place. You,” blank eyes flickered to Spock, “and he are a place. The others,” Ocampo’s eyes shifted to the two women, “and this form are not.”

“A place. Minds that are connected.”

“ _Direngui_ exists as we exist and cannot change. Its present form is bound to this world. The form can change but it must continue to exist as we exist: connected.” Ocampo’s entire body shifted, oddly swaying from side to side, eyes fastened on Jim. “It attempts to join you and to separate from us.”

“You led us here,” Jim said. “You brought us our shuttle. Will you help us to leave? To escape the attacks?”

“Yes. You will leave this world. The attempts will cease.”

Ocampo’s face suddenly contorted, his hands curling into tight fists, his eyes widening. “No, Captain!” he cried suddenly, his voice high-pitched and frantic. “Don’t trust them! They’re not telling you everything. Thousands have been murdered; hundreds of ships pulled in and left to burn in atmo! Don’t trust—!” His words were choked off with serrated force, his body tightening and straightening, his expression disappearing into stark vacancy.

Jim had crouched into a defensive posture, Spock’s hand grasping his arm. Uhura had stepped in front of Lalitha.

“ _That_ was Arturo Ocampo,” Jim asserted. “What did he mean?”

Ocampo’s body was swaying again, undulating like the one of the vines, like the sinuous forms in the looming walls. “Our form is bound to this world. Part of us exist as we have existed for millennia, as part of this world. Part of us seeks another way: to depart from this existence, to escape.”

Ocampo leaned forward, and Jim could smell the sweet scent of the vines mixed with pungent dirt. “ _Direngui_ has reached and captured many, but none served its purpose. Until you. Only you were brought to our world, to our soil, for the _direngui’s_ attempts.” Ocampo’s voice paused, his last word stretching out into a hiss. His head dipped and then rose. “It is unacceptable.”

“We agree that it’s unacceptable. If you allow us to leave, we will go in peace.”

Ocampo’s body leaned closer still. “It is unacceptable, Captain James Kirk, that you have resisted the attempts and your life energies are waning beyond your capacity to repair. We require your immediate voluntary cooperation.”

“Cooperation.” Jim felt a chill run down his spine and Spock’s hand tightened on his arm.

“We require you and the commander to host the _direngui_. The _direngui_ will go and both parts will be satisfied.” Ocampo’s voice paused before continuing silkily, “You will be allowed to leave.”

“No.” Jim’s response was immediate. “It would destroy us.”

“You would continue to live in your form. And the commander and the commissioner and the lieutenant would live in theirs. This is most important to you, is it not? To live in your forms? You will do anything to prevent death. We have seen this. If you do not cooperate, we will absorb your beings and your knowledge, and your forms will cease. The _direngui_ will continue to search until it finds what it needs.”

“What’s to stop you from doing that anyway?”

“If you host the _direngui_ , then we have what we seek. We need nothing else.”

“And what about the _direngui_?” Spock asked sharply. “Aside from escape, what does it want?”

“ _Direngui_ will find a place that is not limited.” Ocampo’s eyes peered at Spock. “It has seen this in your mind; a race of beings such as yourself who are connected. _Direngui_ will find them.”

Spock’s jaw tensed, his hand dropping from Jim’s arm, and Nyota gasped.

Jim held his hands out. “Why? Why threaten violence and death to us? To an entire people? Why not work together to find a peaceful way to solve your problem?”

“Violence and death are the fundamental vulnerabilities in a form such as yourselves. You know violence, you know death. We do not. Our form is constant, continuous. We exist as we have existed for millennia.”

“Our society is based on peace,” Jim pressed. “Allow us to leave and we will send emissaries to your world. We will work together to find a way for you to be a part of a galactic community without needless loss of life.”

Ocampo’s head tilted again, his eyes gleaming directly at Jim. His mouth opened, and then another convulsion ripped through his body, his hands reaching to clutch at his shirt, at his neck and face, fingernails drawing lines of purplish, clotting blood.

“I…will…not…let…you…do this!” Raw words were fought, and ripped from his throat, and his eyes were still fastened on Jim, but they were clear and unwavering. “Captain. An…honor.”

The convulsion intensified, a seizure that tilted Ocampo’s head back and threw his body to the floor, the tiny vines writhing, exposed, still connected. A ragged shout, and then Ocampo went limp, his eyes and mouth still open. A deep hiss was heard, and Jim stared as a gray film expanded from the place where the vines disappeared into the wall, spreading across the room in a wave of reaction. The cascades of silver sparks stopped for a handful of seconds, and then resumed, slowly, intermittently, the gray cast dissipating. And Ocampo’s body jerked twice before the vines dragged it to its feet again.

“You will cooperate,” its voice said gruesomely, the jaw hanging loosely. “Your answer.”

Jim shook his head involuntarily, opened his mouth, and then felt Spock’s hand snap forward and encircle his wrist.

“Yes,” the Vulcan said clearly. “We will cooperate.” Spock paused, his hand tightening on Jim’s wrist. “We require a brief period of preparation, however. After that time, I will fully drop my mental shields and we will act as willing hosts for the _direngui_.”

“At that time, you will all be given the power to leave.”

Spock lifted his free hand. “I must also request that the power to our shuttle be returned now, in order to prepare for departure.” He glanced at Jim. “As you stated, his life energies are waning, and time is of the essence.”

Ocampo’s body swayed slackly from side to side, and then finally replied, “It will be done. You will depart immediately upon transfer of the _direngui_.” The young man’s body collapsed face-forward on the floor as, from the shuttle, the click and hum of the main power couplings engaging reached their ears. With a slippery noise, the vines retreated, pulling the body with them, all disappearing into the reforming wall. The ceiling high above had begun rotating, and was slowly separating across a middle junction, revealing thick darkness above.

_Clearing a flight path._ “Spock?” Jim spun to face his bondmate, who still hadn’t released him. “Explanation?”

Spock had already turned to the others. “Nyota,” he said, his words clipped and rapid. “You and the commissioner must board the shuttle and perform an emergency cold start on the warp engines. Calculate and program evasive vectors for a high-vel climb accelerating to maximum as soon as the planet’s gravitational well is cleared. Have the shuttle ready to go, no matter what happens next.”

Nyota didn’t move. “Spock—.”

“Nyota, please.” Spock’s voice had gentled. His hand had slipped from Jim’s wrist to fully clasp the captain’s, their fingers intertwined. “Please.”

She let out a soft, desperate noise and reached out, grabbing a handful of Lalitha’s jumpsuit and pulling. “Commissioner, we have to go. Now.”

The commissioner was blinking back tears but obeyed, throwing Jim one last glance before breaking into a run at Nyota’s side toward the shuttle.

“Spock.” Jim turned to face the man he trusted most of all. “So, we’re going with, what, faith, hope, and emotional necessity again?”

“Indeed.” The Vulcan was watching him with an intensity that struck deep into Jim’s very soul. “Do you trust me?”

There was no hesitation. “Yes.”

“May I join your mind?”

“I thought you were there already.”

The smallest of smiles, and Spock lifted his free hand to place warm fingers against Jim’s face. The contact was immediately directed to some deep place, and Jim floated, lost in the sensations. Something hidden and intimate and important was being arranged and held tight. It felt like an anchor, and the perfect synergy of their minds was the chain.

The meld broke too soon, and Jim found himself sitting on the floor, Spock kneeling in front of him, their hands still clasped. The Vulcan’s shields were down, fully, and Jim could almost see that place of grief, where the broken links of his bondmate’s lost planet still smoldered, the scarce remains of his people now threatened. Jim could feel it, as clearly as if their minds were still in intimate contact. And other things: fortitude, love, a seething battle cry. Strong emotion and growing stronger; building and feeding from primitive depths where years of structure and discipline held only transient control.

“Prepare yourself, _t’hy’la_ ,” Spock said. His eyes reflected the growing storm: dark and fierce and shining. “It is coming.”

“What can I do?” Jim now held tight to both his friend’s hands. His own heart was racing, thundering in his chest.

“Hold onto me,” Spock said, “even beyond the bond.” He closed his eyes.

The _direngui_ descended quickly upon them, and Jim cried out as their bond was invaded and deformed by a forceful, confident intruder. Excruciating pressure built inside his own head, and he could feel it sliding against his thoughts, making room for itself, pushing him and Spock aside as if their minds were nothing at all. It was brazen; its efforts met with no resistance. It was driven; originating from some vast, separate well.

The _direngui_ was trying, struggling now, to extricate itself from that other source, the strands of external connection dropping off one by one. The process seemed unexpectedly difficult, and it was absorbed, its focus wholly on methodically severing the deep, fundamental connection with its source. There was nothing for Jim to do but to hold on and to trust. _To trust_ … .

It was then that Spock struck. A shield flashed at the deepest levels of Jim’s consciousness, and even with it he could sense the intense, devastating blows inflicted by those pounding, primal emotions. Jim could sense the intruder reeling, stunned within the reaches of their bondspace, able to neither attack nor retreat along the narrowed route that led to its origin. Unable to escape… .

“No,” Jim gasped, seeing his bondmate’s determined expression, remembering the one thing that could break a bond such as theirs. “No!”

“Jim, when the bond collapses—.” Spock’s eyes had flown open, terrifying infinity in his gaze. “When it collapses, please—.” The Vulcan paused, his breath hitching. “Please survive it.”

“No… .”

“There will be pain. You will survive it. You must—.”

Jim let out an agonized cry as a wave of incredible anguish crashed over him, slippery, unraveling, and a sense of deepest grief yawned wide as something beloved tore apart within him.

He fell back, writhing in an agony that seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere. A rarely-used Vulcan technique stopped one heart from beating while the other spasmed sympathetically in a human chest. Death screamed out from one side, the bond crumpling and falling to pieces in its wake, capturing the intruder in its clutches and following the network of yet unbroken connections out from where it had come. Only that small, desolate shield protected Jim’s mind from the worst of the maelstrom as it passed, and even that was finally swept up and away, disappearing into ash and dust.

A deep, ringing note sounded in the vast chamber where their bodies sprawled, cascades of silver vanishing beneath a pall of darkest gray, encompassing the room and extinguishing the light.

The captain was alone and profoundly disoriented, left holding the Vulcan’s limp hands. The worst of the sharp torment had receded, but the sense of his friend, his bondmate, was gone, too. Jim moaned weakly, reaching out and clutching at Spock’s shirt, shaking the unresponsive Vulcan. “Spock,” he whispered. “Spock, no.” He felt unconsciousness beckoning and fought it with everything he had. He was failing. He couldn’t see for the darkness and he was so tired. The emotional pain was unbearable, much more than the physical had ever been; his mind was an open wound.

Through the fog, through the loss that he could barely comprehend, he heard something: Nyota’s voice, calling out to him over the low rumble of the shuttle’s main engines. He could see familiar running lights illuminating the dark.

“No,” he muttered again, this time with grit. “No. We’re not fucking done yet.” He pulled himself to his knees, and then, somehow, to his feet next to his bondmate, grabbing a lifeless arm and tugging. The little remaining strength he had wasn’t nearly enough. “Nyota!” he screamed. “Nyota, help me!”

She was suddenly at his side, a strangled sound escaping her. “He’s dead?”

“Help me,” Jim gasped. “Help me get him to the shuttle. We’re getting the fuck out of here.”

Nyota pushed Jim away and wrapped her arms around the Vulcan, taking a deep breath and then hauling him forward, dragging his body toward the shuttle. They made it to the steps and Jim gripped Spock’s legs, grunting with the effort of lifting the heavy form, his own muscles screaming. He shoved his bondmate’s body through the entrance, pulling himself in after.

The hatch was already closing as he yanked his legs clear, and Nyota let out a sob, leaving her former lover’s body crumpled on the floor as she vaulted into the pilot’s seat.

“Go, go!” Jim cried, bracing himself awkwardly against the hull and the nearest chair to begin resuscitation, compressing a steady rhythm to his bondmate’s lower chest.

The engines roared, and Jim forced himself to keep up compressions even as his vision swam and his head pounded.

“Lali!” he gasped. “The medpack. Cordrazine. I need cordrazine.”

She was running for the rear of the shuttle, hands out to the side to keep her balance against the buffeting of the rising craft.

“Come on,” he muttered. “Come on, Spock, stay with me. Come on!”

Lalitha had slid to her knees next to him, a hypo out and ready. “How much?”

“5 cc’s. He’s been down three minutes, maybe more.”

She emptied the hypo in Spock’s neck, fumbling with the medical sensor, her hands unsteady. “Jim, I’m sorry; there’s nothing—.”

“Come on!” Jim yelled again, still pumping the Vulcan’s lower chest. “Give him another dose,” he ordered.

“Jim, I don’t think—.”

“Do it, goddammit!”

The hypo hissed, and Spock’s body jerked, a low, rattling breath emerging. The pounding in Jim’s head was reaching a fever pitch, beating against his skull like something was trying to escape. He spared a thought for it; wondered if something of the intruder had been left behind. It didn’t feel like that, though. Instead of icy violation, this was warm; this was oddly familiar.

Spock’s eyes flew open as he gasped for breath. He looked confused and scared, staring at Jim as if he didn’t know him at all.

The captain reached for him, reached for his bondmate’s face, and at the touch of their skin the heated pounding turned into an inferno.

“He’s back! He’s alive! Jim, what’s wrong?” Lalitha’s voice sounded so far away, her face swimming in the outskirts of Jim’s vision. His mind was being turned inside out as something precious streamed powerfully between them, and he cried out again and again, unable to move, unable to release the Vulcan's face, and then it was over and his hands fell away, and Spock was staring at him incredulously, full recognition in his dark eyes.

“Jim.” There was no sound, just the bare movement of Spock's lips, but Jim let out a moan, bending over and pressing a desperate kiss to his mouth, tasting coppery blood. The touch of Spock’s breath was a miracle and he didn’t know what the hell had just happened but his bondmate was alive.

“We’re clear! We’re going to warp!” Nyota cried, grief and fear and iron resolve wringing her voice. “Everyone hold on!”

“Don’t leave me again, _t’hy’la_ ,” Jim whispered. “Promise me?” His entire world was constricting to the sight of Spock’s eyes, the slight nod of his head, and Jim held his own breath until he heard the sound of the warp drive activating.


	12. Clarity

Chapter Twelve: Clarity

Jim studied his bondmate’s face: every small twitch of discomfort and flutter of eyelashes, every slight rise and fall of his chest. They were on the deck of the shuttle, just behind the main consoles where Nyota sat at the controls. Spock had fallen into a thick unconsciousness almost immediately, and Jim was trying to focus on something, anything, in order to avoid the wall of pain that was building as the last of the drugs wore off.

Nyota’s voice held frustration. “We’ve made it past the system boundary but we’re barely making warp two. I’ve got us on an evasive course.” At the captain’s silence, she glanced back. “How did we get away, Jim?”

Jim flinched. “I don’t know exactly what happened, but Spock…when that thing entered our minds, he—.”

Nyota was watching him closely. “He stopped his heart?”

“Yes.” He flinched again, remembering the awful feeling of it. “The _direngui_ couldn’t handle death.” He remembered a nervous young man with a friendly smile. “Ocampo. Ocampo tried something similar. Spock attacked it with emotion, with his own death. It hadn’t completely extricated itself yet and the attack carried over into the collective itself.”

Her mouth was a firm line. “There seems to be a handy Vulcan trick for every situation in the book, but there’s always a catch.”

“He struck a serious blow,” Jim said, “but—.”

“But, the _Alehiliri_ have a long reach.”

“We can’t call for help,” Jim said.

“No,” Nyota agreed. “Not yet, anyway. If we’re in range, then any rescue would be, too, and we’d be calling them into a trap. That interference will wreak havoc with their comms, with the engines and they’ll be pulled in, just as we were.” Nyota turned back to her boards. “The _Alehiliri_ know what to look for now, and who knows how far they’ll go to find it again.”

Jim’s face twisted in a grimace as he mentally reached for something that was no longer there. Pathways that had brought comfort and support were raw and empty in the wake of what had passed between them after Spock had been revived. Jim bowed his head. Their link had broken before, in another agonizing place and time, and they had ultimately survived to build it again. This time would be the same, if he had anything to say about it.

A soft footstep next to him caught his attention and he looked up to see Lalitha offering him a small hypo.

“My personal medkit was still with my luggage,” she said, “and I found a few doses of painkiller. It’s not the same as the one you’d been taking, but it should help. I checked the label and I was able to double it up.”

Jim nodded tightly. “Yes, thank you.” The persistent chill that he’d felt since they had descended into that cavern on the planet was even more noticeable now, sinking into the silence in his mind.

She pressed it against his neck and then sat down in one of the shuttle seats. She appeared tense, playing with the fabric of her jumpsuit. “How is he?”

“I don’t know,” Jim answered honestly. He reached out with a visibly shaking hand to brush Spock’s hair from his forehead. “He’s weak.” He let his fingers rest against the other man’s skin, finding his pulse again. “He’s alive, though. I suppose I can’t ask for much more than that, considering everything that’s happened.”

Lalitha sighed suddenly and covered her face with her hands. “I’m sorry, Jim. I’m so sorry about all of this.”

“It wasn’t your fault,” he said absently. The painkillers weren’t nearly as potent as the ones in the Fleet medpack, but they were doing enough to make his head swim with relief.

Lalitha shifted nervously as she clasped her hands in her lap. “The thing is, Jim, it was my fault. I should have told you sooner, but there was so much going on and it was all happening so fast. We were barely surviving, and it wouldn’t have mattered anyway. You didn’t know—.” She trailed off, blinking rapidly and avoiding his sudden scrutiny.

“I didn’t know what?” Jim asked. Nyota had turned to watch them, her eyes narrowed.

Lalitha cleared her throat, looking somewhat desperate.

The captain was in no mood for coyness or evasion. Not with what they’d been through. Not with his bondmate lying gravely injured on the deck in front of him. He didn’t bother to try to hide the sharpness from his voice, repeating, “I didn’t know what?”

The commissioner started talking rapidly. “There’d been unrest out here, at the edge of Federation space, for a while. Orions and other pirates, loose trade associations, colonies, and even some legitimate sovereign powers thrown into the mix.”

“I knew that,” Jim said impatiently, inwardly cursing the heady wooziness of the pain medication. “The trade summit at Charisidon was meant to bring those separatist colonies and systems to the table for that very reason. As well as to coordinate Starfleet response.”

“Yes. Well, the summit was not actually focused on those systems and colonies. The truth was… .” Lalitha sighed. “The truth was that we were going to meet directly with Orion Syndicate representatives and a few others that were dealing outside Federation jurisdiction.”

“What?” Nyota exclaimed. “We were going in to deal with Orions?”

“And that’s why you were so certain of the origins of that minefield,” Jim muttered.

Lalitha held her hands out pleadingly. “The original plan for the summit had been exactly as you thought. But, the colonies and other systems were always going to eventually come to the table. They had no choice, given their financial situation and exposure to other hostiles. What if, instead, we addressed the high-powered shadow players upfront and close to their territory where they might be comfortable with meeting?”

Nyota frowned. “You must know that standard Orion practice is to avoid the kind of contrived diplomatic situations like you’ve just described.”

“Certainly, and that would hold in any normal situation and was why nothing like that had been attempted before.”

“Any normal situation?” Jim prompted.

Lalitha nodded. “Intelligence indicated that Orion ships, and others, had been disappearing out here and no one knew why. Most of them were blaming each other. The Orions blamed us, of course, but didn’t have the firepower or the cohesion for a full-on confrontation with Starfleet. I proposed altering the summit’s dynamic as a way to establish some kind of workable dialogue. The Orions might finally have a reason to come to the table, and others might follow their lead.”

Nyota exploded. “The Orions are pirates. Slavers. Their entire society is based on exploitation of vulnerable beings and the sexual servitude of their own women! The loss of a few ships would never convince them to—.”  
Jim held up a hand, “ _You_ proposed?”

Lalitha lifted her chin. “I proposed, yes. I’m in a position to work for re-alignment out here. You have to understand that this was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. If we could consolidate power and nudge the Orions and other pirates to operate within a set of lawful guidelines, it would keep countless beings safe.”

“I can’t believe Starfleet would go for this, especially without proper support,” Jim said.

“I can,” Nyota glowered.

Lalitha’s eyes flickered between the two of them. “I’d originally proposed at least one heavy cruiser be in attendance, but Starfleet didn’t want to risk it, given the continued depletion of the Fleet.” She paused, swallowing heavily. “I suggested that a single highly qualified team be sent instead.”

Jim stared at her. “You suggested us. You suggested me.”

“Yes. Your diplomatic record is excellent, and your ability to come out on top in unpredictable situations is unmatched.” She was speaking even faster, almost frantically. “There was the remote possibility of alien involvement, and, again, your training and experience in first contact missions is—.”

“ _Remote possibility_ ,” Nyota scoffed. “Ships are disappearing out here on the edge of explored space and there was only a remote possibility of alien involvement?”

“You used me,” Jim said quietly, fighting against wooziness that only seemed to increase. He saw Spock stir slightly. “You used me to get what you wanted.”

“Your entire team is the best in the fleet,” Lalitha said, gesturing at Nyota and Spock. “In communication, scientific analysis, diplomacy. Starfleet wouldn’t give the go-ahead unless it was you.”

“And because of our personal relationship, you had the inside track on getting me to do it,” Jim said. “And then you never told us what we were getting into.” He rubbed his forehead with his hand. “You sold us on a milk run, Lalitha.”

“I know.” She flinched. “But given the players, we needed to keep strict control of information regarding the summit, and especially your own involvement. High-level advance security would have been in place at Charisidon once we arrived.”

“You sold us on a milk run, and we weren’t prepared.” Jim looked down at the Vulcan. “This is my fault, for not questioning orders. For not questioning you. Spock wasn’t complacent in any case. He’d have to have been on high alert in order to adjust for that first mine and we’re only here now, alive, because of him.”

“I know,” Lalitha said tremulously.

“Do you?” Jim shot back. “I don’t think you do. For all the times you’ve faced death, Lali, I don’t think you know what it really means.”

Her voice rose. “No one could have predicted that the Orions would strike at our shuttle. The route was top secret. No one knew except me and a handful of top brass.”

“Someone always knows,” Jim said. “And if the Orions really thought that Starfleet was responsible for their missing ships, they would never have agreed for their leadership to sit down with us, fearing another trap, another trick.”

“You could have said something once we were en route,” Nyota said. “We were operating on a secret trajectory under comms silence. Why didn’t you?”

“It was need-to-know. Restriction of information was—.”

“Not out here,” Nyota insisted. “Operating out here, we need any information we can get. And I know you had the prerogative.”

“I didn’t—.” Lalitha exhaled, twisting her lips. “Alright, yes, it was my prerogative. I chose not to exercise it.”

“You knew that I’d just turn us around,” Jim said flatly. “I never would have allowed this.”

“You would have seen that I was right if we’d arrived safely!”

“But we didn’t arrive safely!” Jim pointed at the empty chairs surrounding them, his entire body trembling. “Barnes is dead! Ocampo is dead! We’re dead if the _Alehiliri_ find us again.”

Lalitha glared at him. “You’ve made a career out of your intuition, Jim. Out of taking chances. What makes my gamble any worse?”

“That’s not a reason!” he snapped, his voice breaking. “That’s a fucking excuse. I recognize that I’ve been luckier than I’ve had any right to be, and I try to do better. I have to do better, with lives depending on me. You have to do better.” His vision was swimming again, and he could hear his own words slurring together. “Dammit.” He managed to lie back on the deck before his strength completely gave out; his heart felt like it was racing. “What the hell.”

Nyota had slipped out of her seat, brandishing the medical sensor. “Lie still, Jim. You’re having another reaction.”

“Oh, no.” Lalitha’s hands were covering her mouth.

Nyota scowled at the other woman accusingly. “It’s probably in response to all the stress, and what happened to him through the bond he has with Spock when…when he—.” She choked. “You picked a fine time to clear your fucking conscience, Commissioner.”

“Had,” Jim corrected haltingly. “Had a bond. It…broke when I lost him.”

Nyota was silent for a handful of seconds. “But you didn’t lose him, Jim. He’s alive. Look at him.”

Jim turned his head to meet his bondmate’s brown eyes, just now blinking open.

“Jim,” Spock whispered.

“Can’t Spock help him now?” Lalitha asked. “Like he did before?”

“He’s barely conscious! He’s—.” Nyota stared hard at Lalitha. “Jim’s fading fast, just like last time. If their bond’s truly been broken, you’ll have another two lives on your hands.”

“No.” Jim focused on his communications officer. “Don’t do that, Nyota. My…responsibility.”

A single tear shimmered on Nyota’s face. “I hear you, Captain.” She emphasized his rank, one hand gentle on his chest as the tear fell. “Just lie still.”

Against the steady thrum of the warp engines and in the fraught silence of those onboard, Spock reached out and managed to catch Jim’s hand in his own.

As their skin touched, Jim could feel a vaguely electric sensation carrying across those tender, empty pathways: echoes of pain, of deepest exhaustion. Of _offering_ , even now when there was almost nothing left. Of _needing_. Jim drew in a ragged breath and closed his eyes, recognizing that his was not the only life at stake here. The violent sundering of the bond had come at a price and the shadows of loss in Spock’s mind were engulfing him. _It will be alright_ , Jim thought, not knowing if Spock could hear him. _Let me come to you._

Clinging to pure feeling and utter stubbornness, creeping out into that barren place between himself and the man who was _t’hy’la_ , Jim dared to reach for the strong, unyielding love, mirrored and mirroring, that could illuminate the way between them. The resonance slowly deepened, the pathways seeming to anticipate him.

Jim remembered how he had pressed forward before, how he had reached, letting his mind test the places that had connected them, envisioning their last meld and the warm closeness that had enveloped him, cradled his very being. He could almost sense it now, somewhere ahead of him along those desolate paths, and he followed the memory and his own human intuition. _Yours_ , he thought. _Mine_.

Sparks preceded him as Jim’s mind pushed bluntly forward, and his fierce imagining of their bond solidified until it was indistinguishable from what had come before. And then it went deeper still. Though neither had enough strength for himself, each found it for the other, as one soothed the latent anguish of a traumatized mind and the other fortified a failing body. The conduits between them had reignited and any pain that lingered was only proof of life and was nothing compared with what had been made whole.


	13. On A Hook

Chapter Thirteen: On A Hook

Impossible closeness, and then gradual, deliberate separation as Spock fell away into deepest concentration and Jim drifted up into hazy, heavy consciousness. The captain blinked into the dim interior illumination of the shuttle, relishing the warmth of their restored bond. He watched his bondmate, regular awareness subtly underlain by the affirming presence of one who was beloved. His head hurt, but the ache was a similar sensation as having stared too long at too bright of a light.

Jim studied the Vulcan’s features, the black of his hair against the white blanket folded under his head. His chest hardly moved, but Jim knew that he was breathing and was even tangentially aware of their surroundings. The same sense of healing energy that the captain had experienced so many times was now, finally, pouring inward.

A stutter in the sound of the engines and a vibration deep in the craft’s structure shook Jim sharply out of his reverie. He gritted his teeth and lifted his head as his body protested.

Nyota glanced back at him, flashing him an uneasy smile before turning to her boards again. “Jim. You’re back.”

“What’s going on?” He pushed against the deck and maneuvered his now-braced left leg under him. He could put weight on it, but it was stiff and unwieldy and he hobbled the meter or so to the co-pilot’s seat. “Where’s Lalitha?”

“I sent her aft to do a manual systems check,” Nyota answered, making a face. “Spock’s in the _tow-kath_?”

“The healing trance? Yeah, I think so.” He grunted as he settled himself into the chair, his leg awkwardly positioned under the console.

“That alone says enough about how badly he’s been hurt. He’d never go into one of those voluntarily, considering we’re still running from an enemy in the middle of unexplored space. And you?” Nyota glanced over again, looking him up and down.

“I’ve been better.” He rolled his shoulders, grimacing at lingering discomfort. “But I’ve obviously also been a lot worse. How long was I out this time?”

“Just under an hour.” Nyota said. “I was able to nudge us up to warp two point one on an evasive course, but—.” Another stutter in the sound of the engines interrupted her and she frowned. “That just started. Blips in the engine power output and in long-range comms and shields.”

Jim nodded. “They’ve found us.”

“They’ve found us.” Nyota chewed her lower lip. “But they haven’t _caught_ us. Readings show the same type of interference pattern, but for some reason it’s not affecting us as strongly as it did before. We still have comms capability, as far as I can tell, but I’m not sure for how much longer. The interference is appearing in surges that are steadily increasing in intensity.”

Jim leaned back in his seat, noticing again the marks on the bulkhead next to Nyota. Burn marks and bloodstains; death and pain. And rebirth and realization. The shuttle shuddered again, stronger this time. Jim rubbed a hand over his face. “Unless we can figure out how to neutralize that interference, the most we can do is send a warning.”

She let out a dry, humorless laugh. “Right. Neutralize it.”

“Jim!” Lalitha appeared behind him. “You’re awake!”

“Yeah,” he said sardonically. “Back again.”

“I couldn’t help noticing our latest dire situation,” she said, her voice falsely bright. “Do you need anything? Water?”

He shook his head and Lalitha snorted delicately. “They conveniently reconnected just about everything on this damn shuttle, and now they’re trying to kill us.”

Nyota said icily, “How’d those manual checks look?”

“Just like I said,” Lalitha replied. “Everything’s connected. Everything checks out. I’m not exactly qualified to find anything they intended to hide, though.” She frowned. “Is there anything else I can do to help?”

Nyota refused to acknowledge her, but Jim looked back at the other woman.

“Could you sit with Spock?” he asked. “I don’t want him to be alone and I need to help up here.”

“Of course. Yes.” Lalitha hesitated, but finally turned, settling in one of the seats behind them, next to the prone Vulcan.

The infrastructure shivered and Nyota sighed. “Well, we don’t have access to the entire library computer, but I could try to run another analysis on the interference pattern and… . Jim, are you alright?”

The captain’s brow was furrowed as he mulled Lalitha’s words. “They reconnected everything,” he muttered. “ _They_ reconnected everything.” He looked at Nyota. “When you and Lali came back to the shuttle to prep for the cold start, were you able to do it?”

She gave him a strange look. “Sure, obviously, but—.” She blinked as realization dawned. “The blanking interference was still active at that time!”

“The power had engaged on the shuttle, but our phaser and tricorder were still completely dead. The _Alehiliri_ had to have done something to the shuttle power configuration to allow it to function even when the other devices didn’t.”

Jim spun, poking at the controls as he continued, his words coming breathlessly. “They could have been selectively negating the field, but there’s a chance that some kind of adjustment was done to allow the shuttle to fly even with the field around us. Maybe even in preparation for us to host the _direngui_. Maybe its presence alone generated a field.”

She was staring at him as he glanced over at her. “Uhura, could you call up the engine tuning algorithms and run a standard diagnostic on the reactor chamber spectral output?”

“Of course.” She entered in a series of queries and then pointed. “Here, on screen two.”

“I’m programming a differential scan based on spec.” He entered a series of commands. “I’m guessing that we’ll be able to narrow in on a localized pattern if anything’s been changed.” He glanced up as the data appeared. “Shit.”

“What?”

“Something embedded in the high harmonics of the antimatter shield. I’m isolating it now.” He narrowed his eyes, staring at his screen. “It’s a fucking window function.”

Nyota was leaning over his shoulder. “It can’t be that simple.”

“Can’t it? A function like this would mitigate the spectral leakage that’s causing the impact on our systems. It would allow the shuttle to operate despite the conditions that surrounded us down on that planet!”

Nyota sat heavily back in her seat, a fond and nearly disbelieving smile playing on her lips. “Not bad, Captain.”

“But not good enough,” Jim countered, glancing around him as the shuttle bounced again, a warning light starting to flash on the power monitoring display. “The intensity of those pulses is still going up and we’re starting to see a significant power drain. Their adjustments might not do much over a certain threshold.”

“Comms are still functional, but barely. We need to send this information before the interference gets even worse.” Nyota said. “Before we lose the ability to do it at all.”

“I agree.” He watched as she turned to her console, her fingers flying as she muttered, “I’m setting up a flash message on the Fleet emergency band, full-encrypt.” It took only seconds, and she turned to him. “Ready?”

He swallowed and steadied himself, turning to face her. “Ready.”

It was a rapid-fire synopsis of everything that had happened to them: the true intent of the summit and the surmised mine attack by the Orions, the appearance of the strange interference and its effect on their systems, the tractor beam, the telepathic probe. His voice remained composed and detached as he detailed the key circumstances of their escape and the potential mitigation to the threat the planet’s powers posed. And as Nyota pressed the final sequence, giving him a confirming nod as indicators flashed green, he exhaled, practically collapsing back into his seat as a wave of reactionary exhaustion overwhelmed him.

He looked back at his bondmate, still held in the trance. At Lalitha, hands tightly gripping the armrests, her expression carefully neutral even as her dark eyes betrayed abject terror. Jim turned to Nyota, sitting at determined attention in her chair, her chin lifted. A last message home, successfully sent.

They sat in silence as time seemed to stretch, feeling the hull shudder with increasing frequency, listening as a tinny, high-pitched tone began to overlay the engine noise, watching as the power indicators turned red and the stretching warp distortion on the viewscreen wavered and flashed to a normal starfield, the lights in the shuttle dimming even further.

“We’re out of warp,” Nyota reported. “We’re on emergency reserve power. Comms are blanked. Sensors blanked. Life support on standby.”

The shuttle jerked violently as sparks burst from the main panel and the starfield stretched again, and Jim knew that they were finally caught.

“Tractor beam,” Nyota said quietly. “We’re being pulled back to the planet. Not as fast as before, though, but close. We have a bit of time. Ten minutes. Maybe a bit more.”

Jim rubbed his hands together, feeling sweat break out between his palms. “I won’t let them use us again,” he murmured. “I won’t let him, let Spock—.” He paused. “They don’t understand death, and they don’t understand sacrifice. But they don’t understand love, either.”

“Love is a powerful thing, Jim.”

“As powerful as logic?”

“More so. Logic tells us how to do what love requires.” Nyota reached out and took his hand, her eyes meeting his. “Sometimes it’s…it’s to simply put one foot in front of the other in order to walk away.” A sad smile. “Sometimes it’s to know how to give up.”

Jim watched her reach out with her free hand to one of the secondary panels, keying in the first coded sequence to initiate the self-destruct.

“This doesn’t feel like giving up,” he said as he stretched to enter the second required code, selecting a ten minute delay.

Nyota nodded, squeezing his hand. “Arturo was right, Captain. It’s been an honor.” She called behind her, “Commissioner, come up here, will you?”

Jim squeezed back, meeting her eyes again. And he awkwardly stood amidst the subtle shaking that had taken over the hull, angling his body around the chair. Lalitha was standing, and he could see her shaking.

“Lali, I—.”

“No,” she said. “No goodbyes.” She reached out to him, toward his face, and her expression crumpled as he leaned away from her hand, her breath catching. “I’m sorry, Jim.”

Jim nodded, already looking past her to his bondmate. Lalitha slid past him to his vacated chair and Jim leaned down, lowering himself to sit next to the Vulcan, stretching his legs out in front of him.

“Hey,” he said softly, clasping Spock’s hand in both of his own, their bond rising into a gentle, soothing warmth, cradling his mind. Jim laced their fingers together, watching the infinitesimal rise and fall of the Vulcan’s chest. “I’m here, _t’hy’la_.”

He closed his eyes, letting his conscious awareness slowly fade into the bond, easy now as he was so tired and the situation around them so dire. His first instinct was to spare Spock the knowledge of their impending deaths, and then he realized, in the flood of their overlapping perceptions, that the Vulcan already knew.

Jim could feel his bondmate slowly emerging from the trance to meet him in this place where their minds touched; the shock of violence that would normally be required to bring a mind fully from those depths was unnecessary here, where the currents of their bond ran so strongly and human emotion carried its own dynamism. Here, their minds were able to slide into each other with a profound and unique intimacy. Here, Jim’s final relinquishment to the meld didn’t feel like giving up so much as giving in to something greater. 

~~~ 

Nyota sat pensively in the pilot’s chair, watching the viewscreen. Behind her, Jim’s gentle murmuring had quieted, but she didn’t look back, giving the two men their privacy. She wished that she could have spoken to Spock just once more.

“Nyota,” Lalitha said, breaking the silence. “I—.”

“Don’t tell me you’re sorry again,” Nyota said tiredly. “Please.”

“I won’t.” Lalitha pulled her long legs up, hugging her knees tightly as the craft made another series of sharp jolts.

Nyota turned to look at the commissioner. “Why did you push so hard for that summit?”

“Because no one else would,” Lalitha answered bluntly. “There was initial consensus for bringing the independent, mostly lawful entities to the table, but the truth was that we’d done that before and nothing changed. And nothing would change unless we drew out the heavy hitters: the Syndicate, and the Tir’haur guild.”

She took a breath, her hands twisting together. “I obtained intelligence that gave us a possible opening and I tried to capitalize on it. If it had worked, it would have been a game changer for those who live and work out here. And if it hadn’t, we could still use the fact that we had shown up, in good faith, and had not been the aggressors. I pushed too hard. I was so focused on just getting there, I made a mistake.”

Nyota shrugged. “You were trying to do the right thing.”

“I should have confided in Jim. Even just asked for advice. But it was emphasized again and again that utmost secrecy was vital. Even for a starship captain.”

“The fall of Section Thirty-one left a lot of uncertainty,” Nyota said. “A lot of trust misplaced, loyalties betrayed.”

“I was adamant. I was eager to prove myself.”

Nyota looked at her. “We’ve all been there.” She shook her head. “Sometimes it works out fine, and sometimes it doesn’t.”

“You’re letting me off easy.”

Nyota threw her a frank look. “Lalitha, I don’t think that this,” she gestured at the countdown, “is letting anyone off easy.”

The commissioner made a low, choked sound. “I suppose not.”

Nyota closed her eyes, counting the time by the steady vibrations shaking the infrastructure. Another powerful jolt as they exited warp and Nyota set her jaw, staring defiantly at the curve of that familiar blue world. She allowed herself one last glance over her shoulder at her friends, seeing both lying peacefully, their hands clasped, eyes closed. Jim was even smiling.

Squaring her shoulders, Nyota faced forward, her hands flat on the console, her eyes seeking the stars beyond the curve of the planet. She paid no mind to the flashing warning lights or the staleness of the cabin air, her only focus the feeling of each breath as it expanded her lungs. Each breath was one less that she had left, and the seconds were now counting down.

_Twenty…nineteen… ._

“It will be alright,” Lalitha was murmuring quietly, her eyes shut. “It will be alright.”

“It will,” Nyota answered. “It is.”

_Fifteen…fourteen…thirteen… ._

She imagined then that she saw the brilliant gleam of a starship’s hull flash and then loom in the viewscreen. She imagined that she felt the tug and pull of the transporter beam.

She did feel the transporter beam! Nyota focused abruptly, her heart pounding as she struggled against calm acceptance of death in face of the unexpected prospect of life.

The tug came again. They were trying to transport, but were unable to achieve a lock. It was too late to interrupt the destruct sequence. Her mind raced, and she leaped from the chair, slamming her elbow on the console as she sprinted for the rear storage closet, leaping over Jim and Spock as Lalitha let out a shocked cry in her wake.

_Nine_ … _eight_ … _seven_ … .

She yanked out one of Barnes’ neatly packed transporter beacons and hit the activation switch, seeing green lights blink on and then flash as she tossed it to the middle of the shuttle’s aisle. The tug came again, stronger. “Lock on!” she yelled, looking up. “Lock on, dammit!”

The timer was still running, and Lalitha was staring at her, and everything _finally_ began to dissipate into…

It wasn’t until she found herself prone across the platform, staring at Scotty’s wide grin through the blur of the decontamination field, that she was able to actually believe it. She saw Lalitha sitting, stunned. And just in front of the commissioner was Spock’s sprawled body, Jim lying next to him.

“ _Did you get them?”_ Sulu’s voice blared from the speakers on the transporter console. “ _Scotty?_ ”

“Ah’ve got ‘em! Th’ transporter beacon lock worked an’ all four aboard! Decon an’ security procedures initiated.”

A different voice, from the background on the bridge, sounded over the comm, _“Another surge, Captain! Shield power down to twenty-two percent and dropping fast!”_

Sulu ordered, _“We’re getting out of here! Warp speed, now!”_

Nyota exhaled as medics in protective gear surrounded her, listening to the powerful thrum of the engines, hoping that they were finally safe. Hoping that they had finally gotten away.


	14. Against All Odds

Chapter Fourteen: Against All Odds

It might have been death, but Jim fought against the sense of sudden separation from his bondmate as if, even against that ultimate finality, he could still win back precious seconds. He struggled blindly, his mind still clinging to the connection, and it was only the cold press of a hypo against his neck that knocked him into full awareness.

He gasped for breath, unbelieving, his muscles still taut and resistant, his hands clenched, and then he saw the doctor’s face, visible through an iso suit, bent over him.

“Jim! Jim, it’s alright. Settle down.”

“Bones.” He stopped fighting, let the medics hold him down. “Bones!” The initial shock was wearing off and the newly recovered bond was screaming, their tender intimacy shattered.

“I’m here, Jim. You’re home. You’re safe. My god, that was close.”

McCoy stood up, giving orders to the other medical staff, and Jim finally saw his bondmate. Obviously disoriented, Spock was being similarly restrained by white-suited medics, his eyes fastened on Jim, one hand outstretched from where they had been pulled away from each other.

With a surge of involuntary panic, Jim jerked against the hands that held him, winning a small measure of freedom before he was pressed relentlessly back to the transporter platform, his body depleted and shaking. A flurry of violent motion, and the two medics over Spock were thrown to the side, the ones surrounding Jim backing off rapidly as the Vulcan advanced only to fall to his knees next to the captain, still reaching out… .

McCoy yelled something, and Jim gasped as a stun bolt flashed, Spock’s body collapsing across his chest.

“Stop!” shouted Nyota, now on her feet and standing with arms outstretched between the prone command team and the security guard positioned outside the decon field. “Hold your fire!”

“I told you _not_ to fire!” yelled the doctor at the guard. “That was an order, goddammit!”

The guard slowly lowered his weapon. “Protocol, sir,” he said. “In the event of an aggressive action—.”

“Just back the fuck off,” the doctor snapped. McCoy spun, crouching next to Spock and brandishing his medical sensor.

“Are you alright, Jim? Jim?”

Jim stared at his friend, his own arms now wrapped protectively around his bondmate and unwilling to let him go, the bond heavy and silent in his head. He opened his mouth, but nothing came out. He could feel his own heart racing again, dizziness surrounding him.

“They share a Vulcan mental bond,” Nyota said breathlessly from the other side of the platform. “Spock’s been using a technique to rapidly heal him, but the captain’s suffering from some kind of recurring systemic response. It might be happening again.”

McCoy was staring at the readouts, his eyes widening. “I see that. Traces of cordrazine? You had to resuscitate?”

“Spock stopped his heart,” Nyota said tensely, “to thwart a telepathic attack. He saved our lives.”

“Jesus.” McCoy stood up so quickly that Jim could barely follow him. “Scotty, rig for emergency transport to medbay.” He snapped another order and knelt again, his voice softer. “Jim, I’m going to have to put you out. You both need immediate attention and you’re going to need surgery. Jim?”

“Leonard, you have to keep them together!” Nyota insisted.

Jim managed a small nod even as a hypo hissed near his ear, and he drifted away.

~~~

When Jim opened his eyes to a dimly-lit medical suite, he simply lay there for a handful of seconds. He could still hear the warp drive as a subtle, constant murmur in the background. He could smell the too-familiar medbay. There was, finally, no pain, and, more importantly, no tense mystery as to the wellspring of warmth at the edge of his thoughts. He inhaled once through his nose, relishing the calm and, quite illogically, simply waiting for another precious few seconds to make sure that this was indeed reality.

“Jim.”

Never had the sound of his name held so much. He turned his head, seeing his bondmate seated in a chair next to the bed. Spock was wearing the standard blue patient scrubs over a black thermal t-shirt. He was clean shaven and his hair was combed neatly, but he still looked exhausted and gaunt, his eyes too piercing, his skin pale.

“You’re here,” Jim said, swallowing over a dry throat. “And we’re…we’re alive and not back in the clutches of those telepathic alien plants. I find all three of those things hard to believe.”

“Your directions as to mitigating the interference allowed the _Enterprise_ to successfully pursue us despite _Alehiliri_ influence. Commander Barnes’ modification of the transporter beacons ultimately allowed for our rescue, given Nyota’s quick thinking and timely action. Commissioner Basu and Nyota are both recovering. We are again within Federation space, docked at Starbase Sixteen and awaiting orders, with only minor damage to the ship. You have been through surgery, _t’hy’la_.” Spock tilted his head. “And I confess that I am not supposed to be here.”

The captain slowly sat up and swung his legs over the edge of the biobed, testing stiff muscles. He looked down at his body, rolling up his left sleeve and leaning to the side as he pulled at his waistband, examining his skin. The field bandages were gone and the burns reduced to tender discolorations. He tentatively lifted his left leg, pulling the loose fabric up and over his knee. There would be a significant scar from the worst of the wounds, but it was a pale remnant of what had been there, before. He lowered his leg, satisfied.

“Guess I’ll live,” he quipped weakly.

Spock merely gazed at him, and Jim cleared his throat, acutely uncomfortable with the distance between them but unnerved by the other man’s intensity. Their bond seemed shuttered, whole but restrained, and there was a nervous energy behind it that was reflected in his bondmate’s eyes.

“Are you alright?” Jim finally asked.

“I will recover.” An eyebrow rose. “The doctor is dissatisfied with my refusal to enter into the _tow-kath_ again.”

Jim sniffed lightly. “The last one didn’t go very well, as I remember.”

Spock’s intent perusal only deepened. “You restored our bond, Jim. You healed what was broken. All that was broken.”

Jim felt his cheeks warm at the deep intimacy in the other man’s voice. “I ended up pushing,” he said, looking down. “The same thing that caused you so much pain in the cave.”

“Any pain was temporary,” Spock said. “I was lost, and you found a way.”

“I wanted it back,” Jim said. “And you needed me. I needed you.”

Spock nodded in a very human way: open and vulnerable.

“What I don’t understand,” Jim said slowly, “is why it worked. I’m no telepath. What really happened to us?” He lifted a hand. “From the beginning. What happened to us?”

The Vulcan shifted in his seat, his eyes now focused on his hands, tightly folded in his lap. “When I saw what Ocampo had attempted, I realized that I had a chance to do the same and, perhaps, do more significant damage.”

“I thought that was the case,” Jim said.

“Indeed. I anticipated that the _direngui_ would first establish itself in the resonance of our bond before acting to sever immediate ties with the broader collective. At that time, it could be vulnerable to a psychic attack, which might weaken it enough for a final blow that would then carry over into the _Alehiliri_ as a whole.”

“A final blow,” Jim repeated, a chill tracing his spine. “You stopped your heart.”

Spock swallowed. “It is more complicated and immediate than simply ceasing one’s autonomic functions, but, yes. I committed _eschak_ , a mind attack, and then initiated my own death in the chance that it would disable the collective long enough for you and the others to escape.”

“It worked,” Jim said. “But you did something else, too. Before the _direngui_ entered our bond, when you melded with me, you did something else.”

“I did not wish for death, Jim.” Spock lifted one hand to touch his own temple. “The Vulcan concept of a life force, which we call _katra_ , can, with sufficient discipline, be transferred when death is imminent. It permits the essence of a person to survive. It is perhaps equivalent to the _direngui_ itself, or to whatever manner of the _Alehiliri_ were transferred into their plant hosts.”

“And yours transferred to me, when you died.”

“Yes.”

“You thought I’d be able to revive your body.”

“If the plan was successful, I trusted that you would try. If the plan was not successful, or if you were unable to revive me, then our minds would still be together, for whatever time was left to us.” Spock was looking away again. “It was a presumption that carried some degree of,” he paused, a greenish blush forming high on his cheekbones, “emotional necessity.”

Their bond felt oddly tentative, still somewhat opaque. Troubled, Jim leaned forward. “So that was what I felt, when you came around on the shuttle. Your _katra_ , returning to you.”

“An unexpected side effect was the reforging of the mental pathways between us,” Spock said. “Perhaps making it possible for you to re-initiate the bond using your somewhat unique approach.”

Jim repeated, “Are you alright?”

Spock folded his hands again, as if keeping himself from reaching out. His entire body was strung tight. “I admit that I am unsettled by the profound adjustments that have been made during our recent experience.”

Jim stayed silent, listening.

“I have relied overmuch upon mental shielding for control; injury locked away as well as need. Emotion driven behind barriers instead of being properly dealt with in the Vulcan way. I could not find acceptance of my emotion, of myself, or of my greater situation. I could not allow myself to accept you.” His expression softened. “You, Jim, on several occasions have been the force that has caused the breaking down of my barriers, resulting in significant emotional turmoil. In violence, in pain. In the resurgence of grief I had thought to lock away. My response to you was such that I did not allow myself to venture beyond the fact of its intensity, so as not to disturb those barriers again.

“When I first bonded with you, I continued to try to shield against you. Against your incandescent emotion and your stubborn will. I attempted to close away parts of myself. Even in such intimate circumstances, even as I would have given my life for you, I refused to give all of myself. I still…struggle to do so.”

“You may have been right to do so,” Jim said quietly. “Nyota made reference to her own misgivings about me and you. She hoped she was wrong, but I don’t think she was, at least about me.”

The captain let out a dark peal of self-deprecating laughter. “I love you. How is it so easy to say that now? To recognize it in the clearest sense?” He shifted uneasily on the bed. “I knew it enough to be confused by it and afraid of it. I felt it enough to try to evade it, with Lalitha and with others. Nyota knew that I was hurting you, by refusing to acknowledge it. We bonded in such a cruel way, she said, and she was right. You suffered my pain; you let me stumble through your mind; she had to watch you die for me.”

Spock’s throat moved as he swallowed. “I was wrong to attempt to manage myself so: to refuse to allow help, to fail to inform you of our initial link. I was wrong to have never properly dealt with the loss of my planet, with the loss of that multitude of connections.”

“You called this,” Jim gestured between them, “what we have, a marriage. Your pain is mine, and mine is yours. Isn’t that what this means?”

“Yes.”

“And your grief is mine, and mine is yours.” Jim leaned forward. “That’s how it works: to share and to heal. My love is yours. My acceptance is yours. Right?”

“Yes, however—.”

“I accept you, Spock. I accept all of you, whether you choose to shield parts of yourself or not. I understand that you’ve been forced to deal with unimaginable loss and then forced into a mental connection of the utmost intimacy. I understand that you weren’t ready for it, and went ahead because you loved me. I’ve seen your mind. I’ve held your soul. I reached for you, after our bond broke, as I’ll always reach for you.”

He drew in a tremulous breath as Spock rose to his feet and took a step forward and then another, his hands loose and open at his sides. “It seems we’re meant to be, you and I,” Jim offered finally into the space remaining between them. “In more than one universe at least, in life after life, and that’s a hell of a thing.”

The Vulcan’s right hand rose, two fingers paired. And Jim, recognizing the gesture, responded in kind, his breath catching as they touched, mesmerized by the facets of wonder in his bondmate’s eyes that reflected so clearly in the slowly widening emotional overlap between them. He lifted his other hand, carding through soft hair and across a pointed ear to caress the nape of Spock’s neck as he leaned in to… .

The sound of the door sliding open caused Jim to jump, his hand dropping from Spock’s neck. He checked himself, still holding the _ozh’esta_ , watching McCoy’s bemused expression over Spock’s shoulder.

“Well,” the doctor pronounced. “I was going to check on you next, Mr. Spock, so I’m pleased to avoid the trouble of having to go all the way to your room.” He strolled forward as Spock turned to acknowledge him.

“Doctor.”

McCoy gestured with the PADD he was holding. “Neither of you is supposed to be up,” he began gruffly before his tone softened. “How are you feeling, Jim?”

Spock lowered his hand to fold his arms across his chest, and Jim sighed, smiling a greeting to his friend. “Much better. It’s good to see you, Bones.”

“You, too, kid,” the doctor said, tension around his eyes belying his warm expression. “Did Spock give you the rundown?”

“I heard that Uhura and Lalitha are both alright. And that we’re docked at Sixteen.”

“Well, it wasn’t for lack of those aliens trying,” McCoy said. “That information you sent about the interference field was just in time to let Scotty work his magic, but we were still at critical levels coming out of it all.” He eyed Jim. “Not as bad as you, though.”

“What’s my prognosis, Bones?” Jim asked.

The doctor grunted. “I’m still getting to the diagnosis.” He winced. “Spock, would you please sit down at least? I know Vulcan-this and Vulcan-that, but it would make me feel better.”

The Vulcan immediately retreated to lower himself into his chair and the doctor nodded, looking down at his PADD. Jim tilted his head, curious at both his bondmate’s simple acquiescence and at the doctor’s own relatively reserved demeanor.

McCoy turned his attention back to the captain. “Aside from the soft tissue damage, you seemed to be suffering from a sustained systemic inflammatory reaction that just missed turning septic. Nyota described your symptoms on the planet and they align with what I observed here. Indications are that it was instigated by the trauma from the crash, but may have been exacerbated due to the manner of Spock’s intervention.” He shook his head. “As far as I know, no human has been subjected to the kind of telepathically directed targeted self-repair you were, never mind the sustained neural compensation for your pain. I’ve never seen anything like it, but your bondmate saved your life and there’s no doubt about that.”

“Looks like you’ve got a paper to write,” Jim said lightly, trying for their usual banter. The doctor was looking at Spock, his normal irritation with the Vulcan replaced by something deep and grateful and almost awed.

An awkward silence stretched, and Spock stood.

“Are you leaving?” Jim asked.

“I believe the doctor wishes to speak with you alone,” the Vulcan said. “And I require meditation.”

Jim’s first impulse was to protest, but he could still feel the anxious and clouded energy that played behind his bondmate’s visible exhaustion, remembering that Spock had forgone another healing trance. He nodded mutely, watching his bondmate depart, feeling strangely bereft.

McCoy frowned as he watched the door shut behind the Vulcan. “He’ll heal you to the point of his own collapse, but he refuses to voluntarily heal himself.” He sighed. “If I were to play pop psychologist, I’d say he was scared to let go while you might still be in danger.”

Jim listened absently, his mind seeking along the bond again, wondering why it seemed so restrained.

“You should both be fine, Jim, physically,” the doctor continued. “I’m not sure what else I can say about the bond you two now share or how this entire experience will affect you or him psychologically.”

“I think it’ll be okay, Bones.” Even he could hear the uncertainty in his voice.

McCoy watched him for a moment, and then sighed, turning to drag another chair away from the wall and closer to the bed. He sat himself down, slouching, one hand rubbing his forehead. “Spock told me most of it,” the doctor said, “or maybe all of it. It didn’t seem like there could possibly be any more trauma that you both could have been subjected to.”

“I might be more worried about you at the moment,” Jim said with a lopsided smile. “You haven’t yelled at either of us once.”

“I decided it wasn’t worth it,” McCoy said. “I’ve long accepted that there’s no way for me to get between you and the danger you’re about to throw yourself into. I can only stand at the far end and hope to have a chance at putting you back together again. But this… .” He shrugged, bringing his hand down to rub over his chin. “This finally seems like it’s above my paygrade.”

“Bones—.”

“Both of you have experienced death; both times trying to save others by running straight into its jaws. And both times, if I’ve understood correctly, you’ve been connected to each other’s minds when it happened.”

“Yes,” Jim said simply.

“Jim, I’ve watched patients die, friends, loved ones. I can’t begin to imagine what it would be like to feel it on that level, and then, after having done that, to try to live with having felt it. Living with another person intimately joined to your thoughts and knowing that, someday, you’ll have to suffer it all again.”

McCoy gazed at his friend. “Starfleet has made itself clear that it isn’t particularly concerned with what’s going on in your heads as long as you can continue on as before.” He pointed to the ceiling. “Sulu is standing by with the details, but I’m pretty sure that our orders are to head right back out there and deal with the threat this new civilization poses to the Federation at large, putting you and Spock, again, in the crosshairs.” The doctor dropped his hand, leaning forward in the chair. “Part of my job is to evaluate your fitness for command. Another part is to support you while you do command. My duty as your friend is to support you no matter what.” He stood, stepping closer to the bed.

“So, instead of the usual lecture, instead of my usual threats to force you back into bed while you conspire to break out, I’m just going to ask you one thing: how can I support you? Right now, what do you need?”

“I need you to let me see to my ship,” Jim said, “and then, I need time to see to my bondmate.”

McCoy nodded. “Alright, Jim. I’ll see what I can do.” He cleared his throat and turned toward the door, shifting into his usual grouched posture as he muttered, “Although only you would use a shuttle crash and an interplanetary emergency as an excuse to elope.”

Jim found a smile. “And here I figured you’d give me nothing but unconditional approval of a spouse who could heal my reckless injuries with his mind and save you the trouble.”

“My approval!” McCoy groused over his shoulder as he left. “I’m a doctor, not the damn father of the bride.”

Jim laughed out loud, fully, catching the smallest glimpse of his friend’s reluctant smile before the door slid shut behind him.

Author's Note:

Vulcan translations from the Vulcan Language Dictionary


	15. Between Us

Chapter Fifteen: Between Us

Dr. McCoy stopped in front of the briefing room doors, throwing a glare at his best friend. “You’re at least ten minutes early, Jim. I should add this to the clock.”

“Bones, I promise. This meeting should take no more than a half-hour, tops.”

The doctor raised an eyebrow. “Oh, I’m not worried about that; I already spoke to Sulu.” He crossed his arms. “I just want to make sure that the next place you go after this is directly to your quarters.”

“To my quarters,” Jim repeated. “Aye, aye, Captain.”

“I’ll call to check on you,” McCoy said, ignoring his friend’s attempt at humor. “And Spock, too. You’re on medical leave until I say otherwise. No matter what’s said in there, I don’t want you trying to jet off to the bridge or jump onto a comm with some damn admiral.”

“I won’t,” Jim assured. He smiled. “Thanks, Bones.”

“Don’t mention it,” the doctor said. “And don’t think this is ever going to happen again. Any weakness I’m showing now is only going to turn to bullheaded resolve the next time you end up in my medbay and I swear, kid, you won’t be out for weeks.”

Jim let out a chuckle and McCoy poked a finger at his chest. “I mean it. Weeks.”

“Are you being insubordinate again, Len?” Nyota appeared next to them.

“Always,” McCoy grinned, a blush staining his cheekbones. “See you after?”

“Maybe,” Nyota said, tilting her head to peer at the doctor beneath long eyelashes. She pressed the access key next to the doors. “After you, Captain.”

Jim raised his eyebrows at a flustered McCoy before stepping past his communications officer and into the empty room.

Nyota followed him, and waited until the doors slid shut again before reaching out to wrap her arms around him, holding him tightly. Jim hesitated, surprised, and then returned the embrace.

“I visited a few times while you were still unconscious after the surgery,” she said, her voice muffled against his shoulder. She raised her head. “How are you?”

“Sore,” Jim said. “But, better. Much better.”

“I can’t believe Len let you out so quickly.”

“Len, huh?” he teased.

She smirked and released him, leaning a hip against the table as he eased himself into one of the chairs.

“I had a talk with Commander Giotto,” Nyota said, “regarding security protocols and emergency transport situations. He said that he was aware of what happened and had already spoken to the ensign involved.”

“Good,” Jim replied. “By the way, I read your report. You saved our lives in that shuttle.”

Nyota winced. “Barely. I knew they needed a lock; I hoped that the beacons would give the signal an extra boost.”

He held her eyes. “Thank you, Nyota.”

“Don’t mention it.”

Jim mimicked a captainly bluster. “But I already have, to Starfleet Command.” He paused, finishing, “Lieutenant Commander.”

“About time, sir,” she replied, smoothing her uniform skirt.

“I agree.” He lowered his eyes, his voice softening. “One more thing you’ll have to forgive me for.”

Nyota waited in silence until he looked up at her. “I think I finally know the answer to my question, Jim.”

“Which question?”

“Why it had to be you, with Spock.”

Jim swallowed, nodding.

“He shields, and you push. You fall, and he catches you. One dies, and the other finds a way to cheat death. You love each other in the most confounding, infuriating, intensely unspoken, blatantly obvious way.” She sighed. “You belong to each other, as much as some part of me is incredibly irritated to have to acknowledge it.”

“I’m not so bad,” Jim said.

“You are!” she exclaimed, pointing at him. “And so’s he.”

“You’ve been hanging out with Len too much,” Jim said playfully, emphasizing his friend’s given name.

“Well,” she said, flipping her ponytail over her shoulder. “I think he and I have each earned the right to commiserate about you and Spock.”

They regarded each other fondly as the door slid open again, admitting the ship’s acting captain.

“Jim!” Sulu greeted him excitedly as the captain stood, smiling into the strong embrace of the younger man. “As much as I enjoy the center seat, I’d rather not do that again, sir.”

“Me, either, Hikaru,” Jim said. He let Sulu release him and settled back into his seat as the acting captain took the chair on the other side of the table and Nyota seated herself next to Jim. “You’ll have to keep her for a little while longer, though. I’m technically not medically cleared yet.”

“I heard,” Sulu said, making a wry face. “Doctor McCoy’s given me strict orders to keep this as brief as possible.” He entered a sequence into the table console and a graphic appeared on the wall screen. “Let’s get started.”

~~~

Jim finally stepped into his quarters, into low light and the relative silence of engines at station-keeping, waiting until the door had shut firmly behind him before engaging the security lock and leaning back against the bulkhead. He breathed in the familiarity and then leaned forward to pull off his boots and socks one by one, letting them haphazardly hit the deck. He was deeply tired, mentally and physically. The confusing restraint governing his bond with Spock was emerging as something carefully directed and managed. Jim could sense protectiveness and purpose overlying thick, nervous energy that had not been abated by meditation. And despite his own determination to allow his bondmate the time and space needed to contend with all that had occurred between them, Jim couldn’t help from reaching out again and again, only to feel shifting shadows of his bondmate’s presence instead of the definitive warmth and comfort that he knew was there.

Frustrated with himself, he kicked at one of his fallen boots. It skittered across the carpet and he surveyed his room, remembering that last time he had been here. He’d been with Lalitha, and they’d shared a meal before departing to board the ill-fated shuttle. Their conversation had been full of flirtation and innuendo, with the commissioner dancing skillfully around any serious discussion of the impending trip. Jim winced, knowing now why she’d been so evasive. His mind searched for Spock’s yet again, becoming a habit. This time, however, the shifting shadows coalesced into an approaching presence, and Jim turned toward the door to their shared bathroom as it swept open to admit his bondmate.

“Hey,” the captain greeted. “Sorry I’m late.”

“You are not,” Spock replied. “I have only just arrived myself.”

The Vulcan’s eyes were intent upon him, their mental connection loosening and beginning to flow more freely, and Jim felt his own body relax with the other’s proximity.

“Scotty’s working on your new figures?” Jim said.

Spock drew up short several paces away, standing with his hands clasped behind his back in an imitation of his usual parade rest. “Indeed, Captain. Engineering’s implementation of the optimized tuning configuration should take fifteen point two hours. With additional time for simulation and general crew readiness, we should be ready to depart spacedock in nineteen point six hours.”

“Then it’s right back out there again to test this new engine and shield configuration for operational efficacy. And to see if the _Alehiliri_ have come up with any new tricks in the meantime.” Jim watched his bondmate. “How long do you have until they need you again?”

“My participation is not required until the final tuning stage. Barring an unlikely emergency or Doctor McCoy’s intransigence, I anticipate at least twelve hours until both you and I will be required to report for active duty.”

“Twelve hours,” Jim repeated. “Hardly ideal, but I suppose it’ll have to do.” He waved a hand. “At least we’re out of medbay.”

Spock raised an eyebrow. “I am curious as to how you convinced the good doctor to allow that.”

“It was pretty simple. He asked me what I needed and I told him that I needed you.” Jim took an abortive step forward. Somehow in the calm and the silence he was hesitant, uncertain as to what Spock himself needed; not wanting to push but longing to touch. Jim cleared his throat, continuing their familiar dance of duty.

“Lalitha’s gone. Now that we seem to have a way around the interference, she disembarked on a Fleet-sanctioned plan to double down on getting the Orion Syndicate to meet us on our terms.” The captain pursed his lips. “The Syndicate lost a lot of ships, and we know what’s been happening to them as well as have a handle on how to stop it. I suppose, from a negotiating position, she’s definitively got the upper hand.” He huffed. “I’m beginning to understand, however, why she’s not in the habit of saying goodbye.”

“Much could be gained by her success,” Spock said quietly. “If the Orions are forced to abandon their role in the slave trade, countless beings would benefit.”

“I’ll be the first to congratulate her if it works,” Jim said dryly. “I hope it works. But a lot could still go wrong.” He crossed his arms, watching his bondmate. “You were right to be wary of our last mission. How would you estimate our chances for the next one?”

“Judging by your report, and Nyota’s, our actions did significant but temporary damage to the collective. The _Alehiliri_ recovered, and were able to exert their full power on the _Enterprise_ during the rescue mission, resulting in a significant and rapid drain on shield and engine power. This suggests a resilience that may be difficult to contend with. Your discovery of the mitigation function was sufficient to keep the ship safe for a narrow window to allow approach, transport, and escape; however, given a longer time period, we will be vulnerable.”

Jim remembered the powerful probe that had interrogated them on the shuttle before they were plunged into the atmosphere. “If we underestimate them, we could easily lose the ship.” He shook his head. “We would have lost the ship, had we been ordered to investigate out here unawares.”

“Perhaps a fortuitous outcome to our ordeal,” Spock replied, still standing stiffly, his unblinking gaze following Jim’s every movement.

Jim chewed the side of his thumbnail. “The _Alehiliri_ didn’t expect you to fight them like you did; they didn’t expect what Ocampo did. Even with their observations of us, and their experience with us, even to the point of assimilating Ocampo into their collective, emotion and emotionally-driven reaction remained a surprise to them.”

The captain began to pace, tension returning along his shoulders and back. “The inhabitants of that planet were so concerned with their environment that the final act they took as a species was to transfer their life force into a hybrid plant form, to exist with all the advantages, and disadvantages of that choice.”

“Indeed.”

“What if one of the disadvantages was to lose that…that emotional connection? Within their own collective and within their own larger environment? I mean, you saw yourself that their own world had, at least in our own area of observation and given the rough scans from the _Enterprise_ , been dominated by that hybrid species. Instead of the thriving, natural ecosystem that they presumably wanted to save and protect, by their own actions they destroyed it. And yet, captured in the drives and motivations of their plant form, they didn’t seem to be bothered by it.”

“The _direngui_ sought to leave. To escape.”

“But it, too, had no emotional motivation, at least as far as you or I could tell. It was more of a…a biological need to disseminate.” Jim stopped and raised his head, eyes wide. “Spores, Spock! The _direngui_ is…are telepathic spores. And its need to escape may simply be a reflection of the biological need to release spores or seeds beyond an original point.”

Jim began to pace again. “But our resistance introduced emotion, and death of a linked mind, as effective weapons. We introduced anger, rage, violence. We introduced sacrifice and love. We brought it right into the collective itself.” He waved a hand. “Spock, what if emotion was now in play? We’d escaped, and, for all they knew, you were dead; the bond was broken and unavailable to them. Why would they pull us back if they couldn’t use us? And furthermore, even if we were just, say, bait to draw in another ship, what would stop another telepathically-sensitive being from trying the same manner of attack? Their method had failed. Logically, bringing us back there would be the last thing they would do.”

Spock finally blinked, tilting his head. “Assuming that another logical method was not being attempted, you suggest that they were acting within a newly developed or acquired emotional structure?”

“Why not?”

“The hypothesis that their current physiological form appeared to prevent emotional realization, which would likely inhibit an adapted response in that regard.”

Jim stopped just in front of his bondmate, heaving a sigh. “Well, even if it wasn’t out of sudden anger or revenge, it’s clear the _Alehiliri_ act in their own self-interest above all else.”

The captain let his mind extend along their bond again, carefully, seeing Spock’s eyes soften, some of the tightness loosening further. He continued quietly, “I wonder if there’s anything left of the people they once were: those who exhibited the ultimate sacrifice to save what they cherished most. I wonder if there’s any part left that would be appalled at what’s happened to their dream, to their world, and if that part might yet be reachable.”

Spock had let his hands fall to his sides. “Memory of their original motivations and acts did exist and was accessible within the collective. Reflection and introspection, however, requires an emotional component which has not been proven to exist.”

“Perhaps.” Jim took a half-step closer. “This is silly, isn’t it?”

“Jim?”

“Standing here and debating all this as captain and first officer when there’s… . When we’re… .” He smiled weakly, gesturing around them. “For once, the world’s not collapsing around us.”

Spock blinked. “Every revelation between us has come during a moment of profound stress. This…this is a novel situation.”

Jim nodded. “Spock,” he murmured, “I—.” _Need to feel you. Like before._ He couldn’t say it out loud, wary of hurt, but longing so much for the other man’s touch, the other man’s mind. Here, so close, he imagined that his telepathic bondmate would hear him anyway, and understand the hidden things.

He waited, holding his breath, and then he inhaled sharply as their bond opened to him, narrowed pathways widening, shining. Jim tilted his head back as he mentally leaned into cherished warmth. He finally exhaled, tension falling away, his eyes closing. “Thank you,” he whispered.

There, in the darkness, he felt it again: slow, creeping stress that gnawed at the edges of their connection, and he opened his eyes. “Hey,” he said gently, reaching out to cradle Spock's face in his hands. “It’s just me,” he said. “Just me.”

Spock swallowed. “It is difficult for me to—.”

Jim started to pull back, and then he felt his bondmate’s hands cover his own, holding them in place. “Please, Jim,” the Vulcan continued, “I have sensed so clearly your pain, your fear. Desperation and grief and anger.” He was breathing quickly. “They have cut into me. I want—.”

Jim was held by dark eyes, by the surging emotion within their bond, by the feel of those warm hands on his. “What do you want?” he breathed, captured by anticipation.

One of the Vulcan’s hands lifted to slide into Jim’s hair; the other moved down to gently encircle the human’s wrist. “I want to feel your pleasure, Jim. I want to feel your contentment, your happiness, your satisfaction. Free from pain, free from fear.” He turned to press his lips to Jim’s palm. “And I want to show you my mind. I want to share myself, without barriers or shame.”

Jim made some guttural affirmative that was immediately lost as their mouths came together. Their connection was blown wide with this intimate contact: the touch of hands, of lips; all that had come before only sharpened this moment. Deep emotion thundered, finally allowed physical expression: a slow, impassioned open-mouthed kiss, the touch and slide of their tongues mirrored in the ebb and swell of arousal that illuminated their bond. Jim moaned at Spock’s heat, at his taste, one hand moving down to grab a fistful of his bondmate’s shirt, pulling them together even harder.

The kiss deepened, and Jim was hopelessly excited, reeling with physical and telepathic pleasure. Everything between them was urging them on, and he felt Spock’s hands on his shoulders, in his hair, fingers brushing over his psi points. Impossible intensity hovered, and Jim fell into even deeper contact, distantly aware that he was swaying on his feet, supported by strong arms, eyes shut, simply gasping against the other man's mouth as his mind gleefully plunged into heat and passion and need.

His orgasm ricocheted from mind to body and back again, ringing with shared pleasure, and he cried out as he came, his head falling forward to rest on Spock’s shoulder.

Jim slowly caught his breath, turning his head to press a messy kiss to the side of Spock’s neck as cooling wetness spread at the front of his pants. “Bullshit,” he chuckled, his lips against the Vulcan’s skin. “I’m a goddamn starship captain. I don’t come in my pants from a kiss.”

“It was,” Spock murmured, his pulse racing in his throat, “quite a kiss.”

The captain grunted incoherently, his hands loosening to slide over his bondmate’s torso and around his back, holding him. Their bond was full of golden, gentle sensations, shifting light, echoes of pleasure. It beckoned him, pulling at his thoughts.

“I feel,” Jim whispered, “that I want to dive into you, when we’re close like this. There’s something in the bond that makes me want to throw myself forward and not look back.”

“Precisely,” Spock said his voice breaking. He was holding on in kind, his grip on the edge of being too tight.

“I don’t want to push too hard.”

“You will not hurt me,” Spock replied. “The situation is much changed, between us.”

“You accept me,” Jim teased.

Spock reached up to cradle the back of Jim’s head. “I accept you, your tenacity, and your adeptness within our bond. Your mind is beautiful.” The Vulcan leaned back, easing out of their embrace, the smallest smile curving kiss-swollen lips. “What do you want, _t’hy’la_?”

Jim smiled. “I want to go to bed with you.” He gestured humorously at his pants. “But I think I need to get in the shower first.”

Spock lifted his chin. “Given my comparable state, the logical thing would be for me to join you.”

“Okay.” Jim spoke so fast that his reply tumbled into his bondmate’s words. He reached down to grab the hem of his tunic, but Spock moved to intercede, his hands covering Jim’s.

“Allow me, please,” he said, his voice deepening. He slowly lifted the tunic over Jim’s head to drop it on the deck next to them as his eyes roamed across his human partner's torso. One hand lifted to trace the remnants of injuries, over scars and the paleness of newly healed skin. And then he slid fingertips under the waistband of Jim’s pants, tugging gently and letting them slip down.

Jim held still under the scrutiny, as his bondmate gently touched the large scar on his left leg.

“You were trapped against the bulkhead,” Spock murmured, studying the healing wound. “I knew that if I moved you, you would bleed to death within seconds. If I left you, you would perish in minutes, but the result would be the same. Logic dictated that I ease your passing. The others who had survived had escaped. Duty dictated that I survive to prioritize those under my command who would live.”

Spock straightened, raising his eyes to Jim’s. “Initiating a bond without the assistance of a healer is rarely done, and in circumstances such as we faced, never done. There was a considerable chance that the bond would not be able to save you. More than that, it was highly unlikely that I would be able to extricate my own mind after it was formed. Once we were together, with my mind entwined in yours, it was…most difficult to stop myself from simply falling into you, following you into death, despite duty, despite logic.” His eyes were wide, a tear falling onto his cheek. “I fought…fought for some separation, to allow myself enough focus to take your pain and stop your bleeding. You were barely conscious at best. I do not know if you remember it.”

Jim watched him. Duty fallen to the edge of devotion, coming at so high a price. “I remember feeling you: your arms around me and how you felt; I remember how you felt more than the pain. You were so determined and yet you were so sad. I remember knowing that you wouldn’t let me go.” He reached out to brush the tear away from Spock's face. “You’re afraid of it, of this bond between us.”

“Its strength is unprecedented and volatile. I found it...I find it difficult to control. I still must fight for separation.”

“But why?” Jim held their eye contact as he hooked his thumbs at the top of his underwear, lowering them and stepping out as they fell away. “I want this. I want you.” And he did, the bond so bright, its pull like gravity. He was still half-hard, and cast a self-conscious glance down at his naked body. He opened his mouth, but anything else he would have said was lost into his bondmate’s kiss.

Emotion between them yawned ever deeper, an urgency building around their sharing of breath and assertion of life. Jim fumbled at the Vulcan’s uniform, pulling his tunic over his head before catching his mouth again, feeling Spock kick his own boots away as they moved backwards toward the bathroom.

Pants disappeared, and an awkward scramble to strip socks and underwear, to dim the too-bright overhead light, and to hit the shower controls caused Jim to nearly fall. He twisted, catching himself over the side of the sink, and looked into the mirror to catch a glimpse of the Vulcan poised behind him, wreathed in steam under the low light, smoldering dark eyes matching the suddenly erotic sensations crackling over their mental connection.

“Fuck,” Jim growled, immediately fully aroused, spinning around and backing Spock under the heated water. They were kissing again, water pouring over their bodies, their erections hard and trapped between them. Jim’s hand slipped down over his bondmate’s taut abdomen to grasp them both, and Spock grunted, pushing the captain against a cool wall and sucking his lower lip.

“Yes, yes, yes,” Jim muttered, drowning in the energy between them as they thrust together. He leaned his head back, eyes shut, feeling Spock’s mouth on his throat, the Vulcan’s hand reaching down to encircle them as well. Stimulation built on stimulation, and Jim let his mind fill with it, daring his body to keep up.

“ _T’hy’la,”_ Spock breathed, his voice trembling, and Jim let out a wild cry as orgasm poured through them again.

This time, they collapsed together, landing in a tangle on the floor of the shower as the water cascaded over them. Jim panted, coughing on steam, his body sore and tingling. The mental undertow had not receded with their release, but seemed to intensify even as they stared at each other. Spock’s eyes were dilated, his cheeks and lips deepened green. He made an abortive movement toward his bondmate and then plastered himself back against the far wall.

Jim couldn’t help palming his own rapidly returning erection, gritting his teeth at oversensitized skin. “What the hell,” he managed, “is happening?” He saw Spock shake his head helplessly.

“This was a possibility,” Spock replied, his voice low and forced. “The…there are biological drives from Vulcan’s deep history that govern the mating cycle. One is a cyclical fever, a...time that requires copulation or death. It can be violent, but this…this is not that.”

“What is it, then? I can feel the bond pulling at me. I can barely think. I just want you—.”

“Forming the bond is only the…the first step. Physically consummating it during a meld is the usual final act of a joining. We may have left it too long.”

Jim knew how he must look: sprawled naked and wet, his legs spread and his hand now stroking his full erection. Spock’s eyes were fierce, his muscles taut and straining, and all Jim could see, all he could feel, was the power and the _need_ between them. And then he felt something else: shivering fear running below the excitement. It was reflected in the other man's expression, in the way the Vulcan’s hands pressed, palms to the wall, the way he curled his body away.

Memories flashed of Spock’s open anguish in the way they had come together in a decision that defied his culture and his duty, if only to save the one he loved; of the quiet certainty in the Vulcan’s eyes as he had melded with Jim on that alien path, the flickering lights of the vines looking down on them; of the tenderness with which he had held Jim’s hands as the _direngui_ loomed over them.

Jim took a deep breath, stilling his hand and pressing against the base of his erection to the point of pain. He concentrated on the roiling bond, reaching out as he had done so many times before, but this time ordering a defiant calm across it. Mental or biological imperatives aside, he would not allow this to be into one more thing for Spock to have to sacrifice for and shield against.

Through the heated spray of water, he could see understanding in dark eyes, and some small easing of tension in the Vulcan’s shoulders. And Jim gathered himself, climbing out into the steam of the bathroom. His mind screamed, but he kept moving, grabbing a towel and walking into the cooler air of his quarters. Jim dried off, toweling his hair and folding the sheets back on the bed, ordering the lights down to their lowest level. He dug in his drawer, coming up with a small tube of lubricant and tossed it on the pillow. And then he stood, his back to the bathroom door. He breathed in and then out, concentrating on the movement of air in his lungs, on the feeling of the carpet under his bare feet, on the fatigue plaguing his overworked muscles. Slowly, the sharp, unpleasant urgency began to ebb and the gentler feelings returned: a low, throbbing heat, the liquid anticipation of pleasure.

He could feel the other man's quiet approach, and he shivered as Spock placed one hand on his shoulder in a tentative caress. The point of contact felt electric, and Jim drew in a sharp breath as the Vulcan’s arms came around him, his bondmate’s mouth against the skin of his neck.

“Alright?” Jim whispered.

“Better,” Spock replied. “Manageable.”

“Good.” Jim reached back to slip a hand into Spock’s damp hair, turning into an unhurried kiss, letting arousal build slowly this time.

“Come to bed,” he urged, smiling at dark, mussed hair. Spock followed him willingly, letting Jim pull the sheets up over them as they lay next to each other.

“Can you believe it?” Jim murmured, reaching across to stroke his thumb over an upswept eyebrow. “We’re in a bed. No one’s trying to kill us. Except,” he made a face, “what were you saying about having to copulate or die?”

“ _Pon farr_ ,” Spock said, with a very human sigh, “is not an immediate concern.”

“Okay,” Jim said, letting his fingers fondle a pointed ear. “The immediate concern is the bond demanding that we have sex.” He smiled. “Which I am very willing to do.” He leaned in, pressing a kiss to Spock’s mouth. “But gently.” Another kiss. “Slowly.” He let his tongue slide over the shell of his bondmate’s ear and then pulled away just enough to meet his eyes. “I want you inside me, both your body and your mind.”

The Vulcan’s breathing was coming quicker. “How are you able to find control where I cannot? To find calm where I cannot? It is…extraordinary.”

“The same way you found strength for me,” Jim said. “The way you found life, for me.”

Spock moved, then, his mouth on the human’s, rolling to cover his bondmate with his body, his hands in Jim’s hair. The kiss deepened, their aroused bodies moving against each other.

Jim groaned as his mouth was released, heat sliding down his body and between his legs, the Vulcan’s mouth engulfing the human’s straining erection. Tight wetness and sensual movement sent Jim arching back against the pillows, clinging to the sheets. He was so close, _so close_. “Wait,” he gasped. “I want…I want to come with you.” The heated tongue left him, gentle hands soothingly stroking his thighs. Jim muttered something incoherent as he rolled onto his belly, pulling one knee forward and tilting his hips.

“You are beautiful, _t’hy’la_ ,” Spock murmured, stroking Jim’s back before moving lower. A well-lubricated finger touched his opening, slowly pressing inside. Jim curved his hips back into the touch, feeling his bondmate’s other hand caress the side of his face before settling against the psi points. Contact began softly, a whisper of intermingled pleasure and anticipation that flowed in and through his mind, drawing him deeper. He moaned, sensing the Vulcan's pleasure at erotic tightness over sensitive fingers. Spock pressed ever deeper and Jim choked, thrusting erratically against the bedsheets.

“I need you,” he whispered, “please.” He felt a hard body against his and a slow, deliberate penetration as Spock’s hips gently rocked into his, his muscles and mind relaxed and open. He leaned his head back again as Spock kissed his throat, the Vulcan fully sheathed within him, body and mind.

Jim grunted his pleased approval as Spock rotated his hips in a slow, rolling motion and then began to thrust. His bondmate was slick, full, and angling to all the right places, and Jim closed his eyes, wanting this to last. Their bond was undulating in rhythm with their bodies, arousal coloring everything a dark, heated red. And as pleasure began to build in earnest, the deepest contact emerged in a swirl of blinding light and arresting intensity. They held there, balanced on the precipice, and then Jim let himself go, Spock falling with him, shedding fear and doubt and memory of pain, embracing the pure joy that rose to meet them. They were together, bound soul to soul, finally coming to rest, intertwined and inseparable.

~~~

Waking this time was exquisite. Jim opened his eyes to the low light of his own quarters, to the solid presence of the Vulcan's form wrapped around him, to the headiness of pleasure still thrumming across his body and the gentle certainty of Spock’s mind against and within his own. Any lingering aches across his body were deeply satisfying, any fatigue he felt as well, and the presence of both sparked only welcome memories of their lovemaking.

“I could get used to this,” Jim murmured, feeling Spock’s arms tighten around him, the Vulcan’s lips gently nuzzling his neck.

The warmth in his mind now held dimensions: points and counterpoints, light and darkness, colors fluid and shifting. Jim concentrated on it, realizing he could manipulate it to a degree. Forward and back, clear to the point of glaring intensity and then receding to a mere murmur against his thoughts.

“You are quite adept at shielding already, _t’hy’la_ ,” Spock said quietly, his voice rough.

“Is that what I’m doing?”

“In essence.”

Spock’s thoughts streamed powerfully beneath the colors, organized and too fast for Jim to make out—.

_Do you hear me,_ _Jim?_

The sensation was odd, the words forming in his mind as if he himself had conjured them, yet ringing with the identity of his bondmate. He concentrated again. _Yes_.

The Vulcan let out a noise that sounded almost like a chuckle and Jim grinned, enjoying the unmistakable humor that rang out between them.

“Was I shouting?”

“Indeed,” Spock said out loud, the bond reflecting satisfaction, and wonder. “Our bond is sound.” He kissed Jim’s throat again. “Our bond is sound.”

Jim sighed and closed his eyes again, sensing the surge of difficult memory and carefully hidden relief that followed Spock's pronouncement. They had come so far, through so much. They had fought so hard for each other, and, within hours, would embark on a mission likely to require even more. Jim acknowledged it, all of it, the ecstasy and the bitterness, and the words of their poem rose to his lips. “If our world knew not pain, how fleeting and simple be our lot.”

He felt his bondmate exhale against his neck, love warming the mindspace between them as the Vulcan finished firmly, “Yet if pain fled our world, I would have known you not.”


	16. Once More Into Those Depths

Chapter Sixteen: Once More Into Those Depths

“Captain, we’ve left Federation space. ETA to Sigma Taurida Five twenty-two minutes.”

“Steady as she goes, Mr. Sulu.”

“Aye, sir,” Sulu answered. “Steady at warp six; continuing under yellow alert and general quarters one conditions.”

Jim leaned forward in the command chair, watching the warp bubble swirl on the viewscreen, its muted colors overlain by a standard tactical plot.

“Five minutes to the known radius of the interference field and closing, sair,” noted Chekov.

“Thank you, Mr. Chekov.” A small pulse within the calm undertone of Spock’s mind caught Jim’s attention, and the captain glanced over his shoulder at the Vulcan. Their bond was still so new and, despite their respective abilities to shield, still distracting in a way that Jim was not completely comfortable with, given the immediate and serious nature of their mission. The relative nonchalance of both Starfleet Command and their crew only added to the surreality of it all.

Jim rubbed his hands together and finally just stood up, pacing over to stand next to the first officer’s station. “Any new information about what’s waiting for us out there?” _Sorry_ , he continued awkwardly in his mind. _I could feel you working on something over here._

Spock looked up at him, a slight flinch confirming that Jim was still thinking too loudly. “Long-range scans of Sigma Taurida Five performed since our extraction have indicated clustered surges of energy following a general pattern of decreasing intensity. The last surge occurred three hours before our own departure from spacedock and there have been none since. At least, none that our instruments could detect.” He pointed to one of his screens. “I have just completed additional analysis of the clusters and, as you can see, measurements within the most recent surges contain increasing variation in power and frequency span than those before.”

“Interesting.” Jim crossed his arms over his chest. “Could that be instrument noise?”

“Negative, Captain,” Spock replied. “The sensor detection limit is still significantly beneath what is seen here. We are observing demonstrable fluctuations within the source itself.”

Jim peered at the screen. “So it’s growing less powerful and more erratic, according to these readings. And then it stops. Opinion?”

“We were poorly equipped to analyze the interference field prior to and subsequent to the shuttle crash, sir. Given a lack of comparative data, interpretation is limited.”

“Approaching contact radius in two minutes, Captain,” Nyota said.

“Thank you, Commander.” Jim nodded to her. “We’ll see what they do when there’s something out here to grab.” He exchanged a glance with Spock and returned to the center seat, punching the intercom.

“This is the Captain. All hands to red alert. All non-essential systems to stand-by. Initiate security condition gamma five for potentially harmful telepathic contact. Damage control reports to the first officer.”

The klaxon cycled as bridge lights flashed red. Jim closed the channel and sat back in his chair. He was tired, his body mostly healed but the faded burns on his limbs and face still occasionally stinging. His muscles were sore, both from their ordeal on the planet’s surface and from his recent intimate activities with his bondmate. Jim shifted in his seat, noting Spock’s efforts to maintain some mental separation between them. The bondspace was narrowed again, the careful restraint returning while they each performed their duty, and Jim had to consciously fight his instinctive urge to simply bound across that perceived distance.

The doors to the bridge slid open and McCoy stepped through, nodding to Nyota before walking directly to the side of the command chair. Jim smothered a grin at the doctor’s preemptively combative expression.

McCoy waited a beat. “Aren’t you going to ask me why the hell I’m here instead of in medbay where I belong?”

Jim shook his head. “Not this time, Bones.”

Sulu called, “Five seconds to maximum contact radius. Three…two…one… .”

The captain deliberately relaxed his grip on the armrests, staring at the viewscreen. He could feel Spock’s powerful concentration, the Vulcan’s thoughts a blurred slipstream. Now, with adrenaline pumping through his body, their connection felt anything but distracting.

Seconds passed and turned into a minute, and then two. Jim spun his chair to face his first officer. “Readings, Spock?”

“No contact, Captain. Sensors indicate no measurable energy surges originating at destination planet.”

“Uhura?”

“Comms are clear, Captain. No interference detected.” She frowned as she watched her boards. “We’re within the envelope.”

Jim slowly turned back to face the screen. “Continue on course. Maintain full power to the shields, Mr. Sulu.”

“Aye, sir.” Sulu glanced back. “What do you think, Captain?”

“It could be a trap,” Jim said, leaning forward. “They could be drawing us in.” _Spock? Do you sense anything?_ He knew the answer even before his bondmate replied in the negative.

Minutes stretched and the tension on the ship was growing palpably: over four-hundred minds blindly broadcasting heightened emotions that impinged against Spock’s telepathic shields. Jim rubbed a hand over his forehead as he sensed the muted tumult through their bond and glanced over at the doctor, seeing McCoy’s concerned expression. He could feel his bondmate’s shielding shifting, building in response to Jim’s discomfort and narrowing the connection between them even more. A headache bloomed and the captain winced.

“Jim?” McCoy inquired quietly.

The captain shook his head tightly, his eyes on the viewscreen.

“Now entering the outer Sigma Taurida system, Captain,” Sulu called out. “Decelerating to warp three.”

“No contact,” Spock said. “Zero impact on our systems.”

 _What the hell is going on?_ Jim thought. Outwardly, he nodded. “Very well, Mr. Spock. Mr. Chekov, plot an approach to standard orbit around planet five.”

“Aye, sair,” Chekov replied crisply. “Orbital plot calculated and laid in.”

“Entering normal space,” Sulu announced.

The planet looked the same: rotating peacefully against a backdrop of velveted stars. And still, there was nothing. McCoy was watching him closely again as Jim stood, crossing his arms over his chest. “Spock?”

Too long of a hesitation, and Jim looked back. “Commander?”

“I am verifying initial close-range scans, Captain.” Spock straightened at his station. “Sensors are showing a massive die-off of surficial plant life originating in the area where the shuttle crashed.”

“A die-off?” Jim hopped to the upper deck, looking over Spock’s shoulder at his station’s readouts. “What about the interference field?”

“I am reading thousands of variably-sized subterranean chambers arranged in connecting groups. Ancient cities, perhaps, with tunnels in between and to the surface, scattered throughout the single major continent. There is an energy field still present, but its impact on our updated systems is presently negligible.”

“Analysis.”

“The time-dependent change in intensity implies that the source of the field may have been negatively affected in some way. Given the interconnectedness of the plant life and the energy fields on this planet, the surface die-off may confirm it.”

“Negatively affected by something we did.”

“That is likely, however not definitive, sir. While the _Alehiliri_ ’s initial reaction to the attack allowed our escape, the collective was able to repair itself enough to re-capture the shuttlecraft as well as to strongly impact the _Enterprise_.”

Jim rubbed a thumbnail along his bottom lip, turning to eye the viewscreen. “Maybe your attack set off a chain reaction and what we’re seeing now is the delayed response.” He squared his shoulders. “The only way to know for sure is to go down there.”

“You can’t be serious,” McCoy said.

“I’m very serious,” Jim answered, sensing a sudden flush of nervous energy from his bondmate’s side of their link. It rose before being sharply repressed, their bond contracting. Jim cleared his throat as his head pounded in response. “If this is a trap, Bones, then it would have already sprung.”

“Detailed scans resolving now, Captain,” Spock said, outwardly impassive. He pressed a button and a visual appeared on the side of the main viewscreen. “Here are the individual chambers. The residual energy field,” he pressed another key, “is mapped in blue.”

“Remarkable,” Jim said, as an incredibly intricate, vein-like pattern appeared, connecting a subset of the chambers and centered near the shuttle’s crash site. “Originating in a certain part of the continent, over a specific depth range. Spock, what’s the geology look like where the residual field is strongest?”

The Vulcan turned to his sensors. “Low-grade metasedimentary rock, Captain. Mineralogy is routine, with the exception of one particular horizon, where there is a concentration of,” he glanced up at the captain, “deshirmenite, sir.”

“Deshirmenite. An ancient impact event?”

“Most likely.”

McCoy looked annoyed. “Any chance of the rest of us finding out what’s going on?”

Spock raised an eyebrow. “Deshirmenite, Doctor, is a recently discovered mineral associated with a particular class of rare interstellar objects. It has the unique property of enhancing certain electromagnetic fields, but has not been found in sufficient quantities to fully understand its potential. If confirmed, this would be the largest deposit of it in the known galaxy.”

“So maybe that explains their power,” McCoy said.

“Perhaps part of it,” Jim agreed. “But it doesn’t explain what’s happening to them now.” He turned to Spock. “I’m going down there. I’ll need a transport window; I don’t want the ship to drop shields altogether.”

Nyota was on her feet. “Captain, I would like to—.”

Spock, also. “Captain, I request—.”

Spock and Nyota exchanged a glance as they spoke together, and then Spock continued, “Respectfully, sir, I request permission to accompany you.” There was something deep and aching in his expressive eyes, hastily shuttered.

“Denied,” Jim said shortly. “I need both of you up here in case this goes wrong.” He met Spock’s gaze directly. “The ship is yours, Mr. Spock.” _I need you to stay,_ t’hy’la _. It is logical._

Their connection was suddenly strung tight: the part that was his bondmate wanting to argue further and the part that was his first officer accepting his order. The officer prevailed, as Spock nodded with his usual brisk efficiency. Sensing that struggle, though, glimpsing that hidden aspect that so recently had held his mind and body in the profoundest intimacy caused Jim to hesitate, his own control cracking. His eyes fell to Spock’s hands, held loosely at his sides. Jim suddenly wanted to touch; needed to touch; his head hurt and he wanted to—. He saw Spock’s fingers flex, and he tore his gaze away, noticing Nyota’s furrowed brow. It was all he could do to turn and walk to the turbolift, and he hardly saw McCoy trotting in after him.

“Where do you think you’re going?” the captain asked belatedly as the turbolift doors slid shut.

“I’m going with you,” McCoy snapped.

“Bones—.”

“Captain, it’s either this, or I make the very easy medical argument that you yourself should sit this one out.”

“Someone’s got to go, Bones. And I’m not going to risk anyone else.”

“That’s part of my argument,” McCoy said. “Shouldn’t your science officer, who is more telepathically and physiologically able to defend himself, if need be, be the one to do this? And shouldn’t your communications officer be present in case contact needs to be made? And both of them have had surface experience here.”

“Surface experience,” Jim muttered cynically. “I’ll say.”

McCoy’s hand shot out, stopping the lift. “Landing party duty is the captain’s prerogative. But if you’re letting personal feelings get in the way of—.”

“Doctor, I’m not letting Spock go because I need someone up here who can hear and sense me without need of the ship’s systems. If that interference suddenly starts up, and the channel’s jammed, Spock will know. He’ll _know_. And Uhura is staying because she has the expertise to get that information to Starfleet, through whatever’s thrown at the ship.”

McCoy stared at him, and then restarted the lift. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”

“Look, Bones, you’re not wrong. I mean,” Jim looked at his friend, hoping he could understand, “you’re not completely wrong.”

McCoy reached out to grip his friend’s shoulder. “I didn’t hear any of that, Jim.” He heaved a sigh. “But in any case, you shouldn’t go by yourself. Protocol and all that, but especially because what you’ve just been through. If there’s a chance that the reaction you’ve been fighting could show up again, I think you’ll want me with you.”

“Alright.” Jim smiled at his friend. “Thanks, Bones.”

“Hell of a job description I’ve got for myself,” the doctor replied, stepping to the side to let the captain exit as the doors opened.

~~~

They materialized into the late morning air, into striking sunlit silence. All around them, once looming vegetation was now slumped, wilted shapes. Vines had shriveled, tendrils limp and motionless, blue-green color dulled and blanched. The soil was disturbed, as if the vines had struggled at the last. The doorway that had led down to the underground chamber still yawned open, one small, dried vine curling up and over the edge, as if reaching for the sun.

“What happened here?” McCoy murmured.

“Something big,” Jim said. He flipped open his communicator. “Kirk to _Enterprise_.”

“ _Spock here_.”

“Transport was successful. Communications clear. We’re right next to the platform.” He paused. “The vegetation looks dead or dying.” He opened the tricorder. “On-site readings confirm shipboard sensors, Spock. It looks like it happened fast.”

“ _Acknowledged_.”

“We’re going to take a look around. Kirk out.” He closed the communicator, looking at the natural devastation around him, remembering the sight of his own blood on the tip of a retreating vine. “Bones, can you check for any kind of viral or bacterial contamination that we may have introduced here?”

“Look at this, Jim!” McCoy had edged around one of the crumpled trees to crouch next to a large, bulbous object. “It looks like some kind of casing.”

Jim stepped carefully around to stand next to his friend, who was wielding his tricorder.

“It doesn’t seem to have been affected by whatever destroyed the vegetation,” McCoy remarked. “I don’t remember this mentioned in your reports.”

The captain shook his head. “We never saw anything like this before.” It lay lumped and slightly pulsing, a dulled iridescent blue that shaded into pink and yellow around the underside. The surface was covered with translucent fur that gleamed silver in the sunlight. The captain aimed his own tricorder at it. “It’s biological. There’s active fluid flow within the casing.” He peered closer at the object. “I’m getting a chemical composition and structure that’s nearly identical to the vines, but contains something else.” He looked up, his eyes wide. “Bones, I’m getting—.”

“Human genetic material,” the doctor confirmed quietly. “This, whatever it is, contains traces of human DNA.”


	17. What We Have Wrought

Chapter Seventeen: What We Have Wrought

“This, whatever it is, contains traces of human DNA.”

“Shit,” Jim muttered. He reached for his communicator and then froze as the casing made a stronger movement, the near end expanding and contracting rhythmically. The captain had become aware of a low hum at the back of his head, a sickly familiar pressure that was slowly increasing, running parallel with the narrowed bond with Spock. He struggled to raise rudimentary mental shields, sensing his bondmate’s sudden alarm. “Bones, get back!” he hissed. “I think—.”

The casing split open abruptly, emitting a wash of thick liquid and a recognizable cloying scent as the two men stumbled back. Jim tripped over the disturbed ground and fell gracelessly next to the doctor, the side of his head hitting an exposed rock. He grunted, pressing his hand instinctively to the wound as they watched something slide out of the casing and onto the wet ground.

McCoy crouched over Jim protectively, his tricorder held out in one hand and his phaser gripped tightly in the other. “Jim, are you alright?”

The captain barely heard him. Almost two meters long and pale, translucent green, the creature in front of them shimmered wetly in the sun. Long bluish veins pulsed immediately beneath its skin above lavender shadows of internal organs. It heaved itself over, revealing eight fin-like appendages. Two small, silvery nodules that may have been eyes appeared over a rounded opening near the top of its slipstreamed shape.

The hum in Jim’s head had intensified and pressure bordered on the edge of pain. The creature made a wet noise and flopped in their direction, silvery eyes shifting and focusing.

McCoy’s hand tightened on the phaser, but Jim reached up, grasping his arm. “Wait!” he ordered. The captain could sense his bondmate’s deliberate widening of their connection, reinforcing Jim’s own inexperienced shields and relentlessly easing the mental pressure back to the bare hum.

The creature had stopped its motion, its mouth gaping open, eyes piercing. It floundered and then undulated backwards, stopping again to peer at them as Jim’s communicator beeped.

“Kirk here.”

“ _Spock here, Captain. Do you require assistance?_ ” The Vulcan’s steady voice was in direct opposition to the anxious, heightened sensations along their bond.

Jim warily watched as the creature pressed itself back against the empty casing, mud and clear fluid streaking its skin. The hum had shifted into a softly fluttering stream of something else, and the captain furrowed his brow, trying to make it out. “Negative,” he finally responded. “We’ve encountered a new lifeform, but it doesn’t appear to be hostile.” He nodded pointedly to the doctor. “McCoy’s sending tricorder data now.”

“ _Standing by, Captain_.” Spock’s voice was more insistent. “ _Attempted telepathic contact constitutes a security situation, sir. I repeat, do you require assistance?_ ”

“Not at present,” Jim said, seeing McCoy’s raised eyebrows. “It appears to have backed off. Maintain current status. Kirk out.” He flipped the device closed. _I’m alright_ , he sent.

“Contact?” McCoy snapped. “Come again?”

“I can feel it,” Jim said, his eyes on the creature as he slowly unfolded himself from the ground. “It’s like the pressure I felt when Spock was being attacked by the _direngui_ , but it’s not as...forceful. It’s somehow aligned with our bond.”

The fluttering against his mind had slowed, and Jim could now make out fleeting, individual impressions: _fear, curiosity, eagerness_. He leaned forward, his eyes narrowing. “They’re...emotions, Bones. It has emotions.”

“The other thing didn’t?”

“No. That’s why we thought that an emotional attack worked so well against it. It didn’t seem to be able to process strong feeling.”

The impressions grew stronger, coalescing, and the creature eased forward again as if seeking something. Odd mirrored flashes of Jim’s own feelings were emerging alongside the creature’s perceptions, disappearing just as quickly. The lump on the captain’s head throbbed and he winced, lifting a hand to rub at it. The creature undulated in place, its skin shifting in shades from green to blue and back again. It made a low, guttural noise.

“It knows I’m in pain,” Jim murmured. “It recognizes pain. It feels what I’m feeling.” He took a small step forward, perceiving something else. “It…it knows me. It knows who I am.”

“How do you know that?” McCoy said incredulously.

“It’s something to do with the bond. It’s touching the same places in my mind.” He closed his eyes, concentrating on his connection with Spock. He could still sense the Vulcan’s stressed, hypervigilant state, but the underlying stream of stalwart love and protectiveness was clear. Jim held to that, focusing on the warmth between them, trying to project both outward and inward calm. The creature grunted again, fainter, the colors of its skin settling into mottled pale orange.

“Bones.” Jim opened his eyes again. “I think this is the _Alehiliri_.”

“The homicidal plants turned into this? An empathic tree slug?” McCoy hadn’t lowered the phaser, his eyes flashing between his friend and the creature.

Jim watched as the creature slowly turned its head, taking in everything around it. Recognition expanded to include the smell of the soil, the heat of the sun, the added dimension of memory, and the hum in his head grew stronger again, echoing upon itself into a powerful singular emotion. Grief curled against the captain’s mind and he flinched, pressing a hand to his head again as the creature let out an ululating moan, its orange color faltering into watery green.

Jim could see flashing images of bereaved alien memory: vast forests of diverse beauty, art and architecture of intricate and delicate design, celebrations of all that is natural, a deep, desperate love for all living things. The images shifted into a staccato alien tongue, and then into a recognizable language, words coalescing in Jim’s mind: _What have we done? Our world is lost. All we were._

“Jim!” McCoy’s voice was a distant thing.

“Wait, Bones,” Jim gasped.

The sense of regret, of responsibility, was pervading his mind, and he was suddenly thrust into another desert of grief. Forestscapes of green transformed to jagged, reddish-hued mountains, the smoldering heat of the rising sun over the sand, a sea of brilliant and unique minds now lost. Lifeless blue eyes trapped behind an implacable pane. _All we were is_ _gone_. A bond formed in the midst of excruciating pain and soul-deep despair. _I would do anything, to save you._ One last, desperate effort to save his shipmates even after everything seemed to be lost. _Captain,_ _an honor._ Holding tight to limp hands as a beloved mind sacrificed itself. _Don’t let me go._

Jim dragged himself away from the psychic tide with a sob, one hand fiercely gripping the doctor’s arm. The bond was hurting; his bondmate was hurting and couldn’t show it, wouldn’t shield against it.

The creature was staring at him again and the awareness lingering alongside his bond was deeper than before: more resolved, more expansive, touched with unmistakable remorse and reflecting Jim’s own memories of his ordeal here: _b_ _urn marks and bloodstains; death and pain. And rebirth and realization._

Jim realized that he was practically in the doctor’s arms, his legs unsteady as McCoy dragged him back, away from the creature. Odd sounds came from all around them, the dead vegetation rustling dryly. Other casings were hidden there, all splitting open, and the awakening awareness shared among them was compounding, expanding.

The creature in front of them undulated once more and then began to slide away, the stubby appendages digging into the soft ground as it twisted, pushing itself into and under the dirt. It moved rapidly and, shockingly, was gone in seconds. The others emerged, pausing as an undulating, moaning mass before turning and themselves burrowing beneath the regolith.

Jim frowned in the silent sunlight, shaking his head in confusion as he gently pulled away from his friend. The hum had vanished, and the emptiness felt strange.

“My god, Jim. Are you alright?” The doctor had his medical sensor out. “What happened?”

“I’m fine,” Jim said. “I’ll be fine.” He licked his lips. “We need to get back to the ship.”

“Hold on,” McCoy said sharply. “Security protocols. I need to get a comparative neural activity scan. That thing was obviously doing something to you.”

“It was remembering.” The captain took a breath and walked carefully forward to the empty casing, removing the sampling kit from his belt as the doctor followed close behind. “It remembered who it was; it recognized what had happened here.”

McCoy grunted as he examined his readouts. “No evidence of psionic imprinting or external control. Do you feel anything now?”

Jim shut the sample container, grimacing slightly as he handed it to the doctor. “Nothing from them. I feel…I feel a lot from Spock.” Their bond felt bruised, and Jim hesitated to reach across it. He wanted to go home. He wanted the surety of his bondmate’s body under his hands.

“I can imagine.” McCoy sighed and flipped open his communicator. “McCoy to _Enterprise_. Two to beam up; medical authorization tiger-seven-twelve.”

“Enterprise _here_ ,” Nyota’s voice came back. “ _Acknowledged. Stand by to transport._ ”

The first thing Jim saw upon materialization was his bondmate’s lean form, standing beside Ensign Torres at the controls. Spock appeared outwardly placid, hands clasped behind his back, expression carefully neutral. Their bond, however, seethed with dense anxiety, with words, whispered too quickly to capture, with raw memories of pain. The captain forced himself to stand and wait until the decontamination field processed through, and when he was finally able to step down, it took everything he had to stop himself rushing forward.

“Ship’s status, Commander?” Jim was surprised that his voice sounded relatively normal. His hands were in fists at his sides.

“Shields remain at full power, Captain; we are holding standard orbit and are maintaining alert status. No change in sensor readings regarding the residual energy field. Your tricorder data have been fed into the main computers for analysis.”

“Very good,” Jim answered gamely, the tension palpable. “Doctor McCoy has a sample that will also require processing. I want to see both of you and Lieutenant Commander Uhura in the briefing room in thirty minutes to go over the results.”

“Yes, sir.” Spock’s eyes were intensely focused on Jim, full of everything that was being forcibly hidden, determinedly locked away. It was too much. This separation had been too much; their bond too new to reconcile it.

McCoy was glancing back and forth between them, concern twisting his expression. “Uh, Mr. Torres, would you mind giving us the room, please?”

Torres looked confused for a fleeting second before he nodded. “Yes, sir. I’ll, uh, be right outside.”

The doors had just slipped shut behind the ensign when Jim was immediately caught in a warm, solid embrace, his bondmate holding him tightly, bending his head against Jim’s neck, breathing him in.

“It’s alright,” Jim murmured in relief, his arms coming around the Vulcan, fingers gripping into his uniform shirt. “I’m alright.”

He was fiercely held for a handful of human heartbeats, and then Spock released him, stepping back a brave distance to stand again with his arms clasped behind him. The bondspace was calmer now, but dark eyes still watched him closely.

Jim smiled sheepishly at the doctor. “Thanks, Bones.”

“Never you mind,” McCoy answered gruffly. “You’ve both been through enough, and there’s a point where excessive self-denial becomes dangerous for anyone, Vulcan or not.” He looked Spock over. “Speaking of which, how are you?”

“Functional,” Spock said, his voice roughened. “The experience was difficult. The creature’s essence shared part of the resonance that we do. It was both together and not.” He paused, his eyes still on his bondmate. “It did not attack you.”

“No, it didn’t.” Jim frowned, thinking. “It felt similar to the _direngui_ when it first approached us, but there was no sense of violation, or violence. But, Spock, it did have emotions. Deep emotions. It was completely different in that regard.”

“Yes, I was able to sense both its awareness and its perception of memory.” Spock blinked. “I have a hypothesis.”

“That was quick,” Jim said amusedly.

“It is based on your own speculation, Jim.” The Vulcan tilted his head. “Data analysis will be most illuminating.”

Jim gazed at him, and then reached forward, offering the _ozh’esta_. Spock did not hesitate to press his fingers against his bondmate’s, their touch warming the space between them. It almost covered the lingering, heavy worry and the still-bright anxiousness suffusing the human's mind.

“I’ve got to change,” Jim said, reluctantly lowering his hand and gesturing at his muddy uniform. “I’ll meet you in the briefing room?”

“Yes, Jim.” Spock’s voice was a shadow of its normal formidable tone.

McCoy cleared his throat, smothering an affectionate smile. “C’mon, Spock, you can walk me to medbay on your way to the bridge.”

The Vulcan raised an eyebrow but nodded, glancing at his bondmate once more before accompanying the doctor through the doors.

Jim exhaled, pausing to look around the transporter room before he followed behind the two men.

“Uh, Captain?” Ensign Torres asked quietly from where he stood just outside the entrance.

“Yes, Mr. Torres.” Jim watched Spock and McCoy disappear around the curving corridor.

“I, uh, just wanted to say that we’re glad you’re back with us, sir. While you were missing, the crew felt your absence.”

“Thank you, Ensign.” Jim reached out to grasp the younger man’s shoulder, giving him a small smile. “I appreciate it.”

“Yes, sir!” Torres grinned, returning to his post, and Jim was left thinking of another young man with a friendly smile, of a body wrapped in vines, somewhere on that planet down there.

~~~

The alert lighting still flashed in the background, casting intermittent garishness over the plots and graphics arrayed across the briefing room’s large screens.

“Rapid adaptation?” Nyota asked. Her ponytail swung behind her as she shook her head in disbelief. “How is that possible at this scale?”

“There has been evidence for such adaptation in plant species, given a duplication of existing genetic material,” Spock answered. “In this case, the data suggest polyploidy involved human chromosomes, assimilated from the body of Yeoman Ocampo.”

Jim drummed his fingers on the table. “An adaptive response triggered by the manner of telepathic attack the collective had been subjected to.”

McCoy frowned. “Let me get this straight. A race of environmentally aware, telepathically gifted people chose to transfer their consciousness into a genetically designed hybrid plant variety in order to safeguard their planet’s natural state. But, the hybrid’s evolutionary resilience completely destroyed the planet’s original ecosystem. And _they_ couldn’t feel anything anymore, so they didn’t seem to care, either about that or about the thousands of beings they killed in their quest to telepathically disseminate.”

“The hybrid variety they chose was remarkably resilient and able to respond rapidly to any disadvantage in a physical sense,” Spock agreed. “For example, the fans that appeared to monitor us and to transmit the _direngui_ ’s essence were quite quickly devised and deployed. However, the hybrid’s adaptive dominance was not the only consequence. As you rather inelegantly pointed out, Doctor, the form they chose was incompatible with an existing emotional framework. When faced with our manner of attack, the form’s naturally powerful adaptive process required an emotional structure to develop in order to contend with the new threat to itself.”

“It used human genetic material,” Jim said.

“Seeded within the same energetic resonance it was exposed to during the attack,” Spock added quietly, regarding the captain.

“But it went too far,” McCoy remarked. “According to the captain’s experience just now, these new manifestations of the _Alehiliri_ appear to be practical empaths.”

“Maybe that’s why they haven’t attacked us,” Nyota said, “or the captain. Because now they’d feel every harm they inflict.”

“But what about the collective?” McCoy asked. “You were able to communicate with them before, and your report said that they boasted about having assimilated knowledge of us through Ocampo being pulled into their collective. What about now? How much do they remember of us?”

“It is unclear exactly what would happen in the face of such monumental physiological and psychological adjustment,” Jim answered. “But I did sense recognition in the creature we encountered. More than recognition; I believe it felt remorse for what it did.”

He ran a hand through his hair. “It was able to translate into our language. To recognize the details of my own experiences.” He took a breath, thinking of the strange touch of the creature’s mind. “The next step should involve re-establishing communication, if possible.” He looked at Nyota. “Opinion?”

She shook her head again, glancing at Spock. “Direct telepathic communication seems to be the most efficient way to move forward here, but I refuse to recommend it.”

Spock raised an eyebrow but remained silent.

“My recommendation,” Nyota continued, “would be for a full survey team to beam down and do a proper level-four, including first contact protocols.”

“I concur,” the Vulcan said finally. “There are still considerable unknowns here, not least of which is the exact relationship between the _Alehiliri_ ’s telepathic energy field and the deshirmenite concentrations nominally associated with it. Indeed, traces of the mineral were found within the casing sample brought back by Doctor McCoy and may be an integral part of the biology on this planet.”

“Starfleet’s waiting on our report,” Jim said. “Let’s—.”

The boatswain’s whistle sounded shrilly in the room. “ _Captain to the bridge.”_

Jim punched the intercom. “Kirk here. Report.”

Sulu’s voice came back, “ _Captain, we’re receiving a hail from the planet’s surface. It’s… .”_ Sulu paused. “ _It’s our standard frequency, sir.”_

Jim exchanged a look with his first officer. “On my way.” He pushed himself up. “Did we leave a communicator down there?”

“Ocampo’s communicator,” Nyota said. “When they took his body, it was still on his belt.”

“Let’s go.”

~~~

“Captain on the bridge!”

Jim jogged to the center seat as Sulu took the helm and Nyota moved to her station, McCoy following her.

“Confirmed. It is a standard hail, sir,” Nyota said, adjusting her earpiece.

“Put it on speakers, Commander,” Jim ordered, glancing over as Spock stepped down to stand next to him.

“Aye.”

The channel clicked over and Jim raised his voice. “This is Captain James Kirk of the starship _Enterprise_.”

For several seconds there was nothing but dead air. A burst of static, and then the channel clicked again into silence.

Jim looked back to see Nyota shaking her head. “The channel was closed on their end, Captain.”

“Try—.” Jim’s order stopped unexpectedly as he felt a resurgence of that low hum, hovering along the bond. Next to him, Spock lifted a hand to his temple.

“Captain—.”

“I feel it, too.” Jim shot to his feet. “Confirm shield status.”

“Shields on maximum, sir,” Sulu replied.

The hum was growing stronger, and Jim met Spock’s eyes, remembering a violent, intrusive mental probe and the terrible potential for destruction that the _Alehiliri_ had demonstrated again and again.

“Mr. Sulu, I want an emergency orbital breakaway—.”

**_Captain James Kirk._**

The voice was everywhere and nowhere all at once, the bridge crew looking in vain for the source. Jim held up a hand. “Belay that order, helm.”

Nyota’s hands were flying over her boards. “It’s not coming from communications, sir.”

Spock had reached out, placing his hand briefly on Jim’s wrist. “It is telepathic, Captain.”

**_Captain James Kirk, we are the_ Alehiliri. _We contact you in this way as a gesture of peace, as our previous attempts on your mind have been destructive._**

Jim turned slowly to the viewscreen, watching the blue curve of the planet. “This is Captain Kirk,” he said. “Can you hear me?”

**_We hear you._ _We retain the knowledge of you and your people. Even in our new form we retain the knowledge. And we remember the knowledge of our past, in the old ways of remembering_** _. **We have wronged you and others.**_

Jim rubbed a hand over his chin. “What are your intentions?”

**_We remember all, before our eternal and monochromatic life. We remember why we set ourselves in that form. We remember how. We remember death and we remember the colors of life._**

“The colors of life: emotions,” Jim said. “You can feel, again.”

**_We had forgotten. We now know and we feel all. We remembered that our purpose was to protect life. To protect the way of natural things. We wish to find that way again._**

Jim glanced at Spock, sensing astonishment and avid curiosity across their bond. He looked at the world in front of him, remembering all the pain and cruelty, all the fear and death; even with this overture there was still awful danger here. The captain recalled the words he’d spoken to Ocampo: _We’re still Starfleet officers. We have our duty, even out here. Especially out here._ And, in the end, there was only one answer to give.

“Let us help.”


	18. Emotional Necessity

Chapter Eighteen: Emotional Necessity

The stars were still. Bright and hard, as infinite as they were unforgiving, they spread as a masterpiece across the velvet of space, cascading across the sweeping windows of the deserted observation deck.

The captain stood stiffly in his dress uniform in front of the expansive view, alone and lost in contemplation. Alone, until his bondmate came to stand silently at his right shoulder. Lost, until the deep pathways of their bond warmed with that cherished presence.

Jim held onto the silence as long as he could, until the press of duty compelled his speaking. “Is Mr. Scott ready to get back underway?”

“Yes, sir,” Spock answered. “We are expected at Starbase Sixteen.”

“It seems fitting though,” Jim said, referring to the stars, “for a memorial.”

“It does,” Spock said. “Your eulogy for Yeoman Ocampo and Commander Barnes was singularly eloquent.”

Jim reached out, pressing his palm against the transparent aluminum. “This view is so rarely seen; encompassing simultaneously the most awe-inspiring and the saddest parts of our service.” He looked at his hand. “I can understand it, though. Holding at full-stop both to honor the dead and to contemplate the reason for their passing.” He exhaled, lowering his hand to motion loosely at the intercom switch nestled between the vast panes. “Go ahead and give the order, Spock.”

But the Vulcan did not move. “Our arrival is at your discretion, of course, Captain. However, may I suggest, perhaps a moment more.”

Jim looked at him, at the starlight reflected on black hair, in dark eyes. He smiled. “A moment.” His gaze sought the stars again. “Do you think of it, Spock? The magnitude of what happened on that planet?” He shook his head. “Starfleet sent three ships to relieve us and to eagerly welcome the Federation’s new prospective member, but I don’t know if Command really grasped what had happened there.”

“The birth of a new species.”

“Not just that. The unlikeliness of it. The audacity of it. Beyond the miraculous new mineral deposit and a new, powerful ally.” He blinked, his voice softening. “Perhaps, it’s simply personal reflection. The _Alehiliri_ aspired to preserve their world by sacrificing part of themselves, but their method only hastened that destruction, not just of their world, but of who they were as a people. Their transformation, as painful as it was, was necessary for them to re-capture that lost part of themselves.” He paused. “They got a second chance.”

The Vulcan bowed his head. “I find that my own ruminations have also been drawn in a more personal direction.”

Jim turned his body to fully face his bondmate, waiting.

Spock lifted his eyes. “I believe that some instability remains between us. It is difficult to control. Difficult to keep the separation that must remain if we are to perform our duty.”

“I’ve felt that,” Jim said. “It feels like anxiety in a human. Worry. Over-protectiveness.”

“Worry,” Spock repeated. He tilted his head. “It is not in the Vulcan tradition, to extend logical prediction of potential outcomes into emotional hyperbole.”

“It wasn’t, before. But what about now?” Jim asked quietly. “After what happened to your planet? There had to have been some emotional ramifications for the survivors.”

“I would not know,” Spock said, his eyes dropping again. “As you are well-aware, I shielded my mind against the mental consequences of that event.”

“Not anymore,” Jim pointed out. “That shield fell.” He eased closer. “Spock, is it logical to assume that your mind would simply recover from that trauma, and the trauma of our link breaking, and the trauma of what we just went through? All that, and your emotional needs wouldn’t change?”

“There are many factors that—.”

“No.” Jim reached out to place a hand on his bondmate’s shoulder. “Spock, it’s not logical. Do you think that I’m unaffected?”

Spock met his eyes. “You are recovered.”

“Physically, yes. But you have to have noticed how I reach for you. All the time. And over the last week or so, when we’ve been running in circles getting the _Alehiliri_ contact finalized before the other ships arrived, barely sleeping, and never with each other, haven’t you noticed how I…I mentally cling to you?”

“I have noticed. I have not found it burdensome.”

“The closeness helps. It’s how it’s supposed to be.”

“Perhaps, given different circumstances. However, on active duty, the effects on your command would be—.”

“What?” Jim insisted. “What would they be? What have they been, since we’ve been bonded? You’re protecting me again, Spock, or trying to. You’re holding back, and driving yourself sick with worry and anxiety over the fact. And I just reach for you harder, because I need to know that you’re there.”

“Jim—.”

“We’re bonded, Spock. Mind and soul. It doesn’t make sense to force a separation that we aren’t made for.” Jim licked his lips. “I agree that there are times when our bond needs to be less intense, but I think we should both stop trying so hard to keep it in the background. I think we need to stop trying so hard to act like neither of us died while the other felt it, intimately. We need to trust in this connection the way it was meant to be. We need to accept each other for this, too.”

“I am,” Spock’s voice was barely a whisper, “afraid of losing you again, _t’hy’la_.”

“And I’m fucking terrified of losing you,” Jim said forcefully, grasping his bondmate’s shoulders. “But, Spock, we’ve lost each other before and we’ve survived.”

Dark eyes flashed. “I find your attempt at humor unacceptable.”

“It’s the truth. And we’ll face it again, more likely sooner rather than later in this business.” Jim squeezed harder, shaking him gently. “I still choose you. I still choose this. With full knowledge and experience and with all the terror and uncertainty and worry that goes with it. I love you.”

The Vulcan’s eyes were shining. “And I, you.”

“Acknowledge the fear, but also acknowledge the joy. Feel me. Hold onto _me_ ,” Jim said, smiling, “even beyond the bond.”

Spock made a low sound and reached for him. Any remaining barriers came crashing down, any mitigation and redirection, any cautious protection vanishing. Jim pressed forward, his hands in dark hair, throwing himself into passion, into strength, into desire. The synergies between them sparked with the taste of each other, with the feel of wet, open-mouthed kisses and heated hands, with the miracle of each other’s breath. And when they finally parted, the bond stretched between them, glowing and full and unabated. Worth dying for, but also worth living for. Jim grinned at the fierce intensity in the Vulcan’s eyes. “We hold universes between us, my friend,” he said.

“Indeed.” Spock lifted a hand to caress the human’s face. His mind was calm, and he allowed his beloved to smooth his ruffled hair. He gently brushed his thumb over Jim's full lower lip and felt his own mouth curve in a smile. It was only logical.

Jim’s grin widened, and he reached out to hit the intercom. “Bridge, this is the Captain. Resume course and speed for Starbase Sixteen.” At Sulu’s acknowledgement, the captain waited for the roar of the engines, for the bubbled stretch of warp distortion as it swept away their view of stars. He found that he could still see the starlight in his bondmate’s eyes; he could still feel their infinity in the connection he shared with the one he loved.

“Come on, Spock,” he said. “Our ship is waiting.”

THE END

Disclaimer: I do not own Star Trek and make no money from this.

Author’s Note: The poem quoted in this story is my own, published on this archive under the title, “edges”. Thank you for reading, my friends. I hope this story has helped in some small way during this difficult time. LLAP. - Cate

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [edges](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24314233) by [CateAdams](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CateAdams/pseuds/CateAdams)




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